


Not-yet-titled Sequel

by cheerful_nihilist_tatertot



Series: Untitled Post-Epidemic Life series [2]
Category: Tom Clancy's The Division
Genre: Action & Romance, Companionable Snark, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Family Feels, Feels, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Gun Violence, Hurt/Comfort, LGBTQ Character, Military Background, Non-Explicit Sex, Non-Graphic Violence, Not Beta Read, Original Character(s), Plague, Post-Apocalypse, Relationship(s), Sarcasm, Slow Build, Survival, Teamwork, Weapons, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:07:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 116,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22410745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheerful_nihilist_tatertot/pseuds/cheerful_nihilist_tatertot
Summary: Picks up four months after the events of my first story, "Solace & Taproots". Rebecca has settled in with those dear to her, and their little settlement learns of some surprising ways to grow. This will involve increasing ventures into the world around them.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Female Character, Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Series: Untitled Post-Epidemic Life series [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1612822
Comments: 7
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I realized I might have shot myself in the foot visibility-wise posting the first work in this series all at once, in one monolothic dump, and since the first has gotten a few hits and kudos, I realized I was at a good breaking point to upload the first part of the sequel. So here it is. I have a good idea of multiple plot points that'll be in the rest of the story, so more sections should follow along over time. I would strongly suggest reading the original work first, I don't do much re-exposition or character re-introduction. Also, please see my overall notes and tags on that too. (The tag assignments on this work will evolve as I write more.)

It was about four months after Rebecca had returned to the "Garden" settlement — before all the excitement with the babies, while Allison was still in her second trimester. The snow seemed to be letting up, but the ground was still frosty most mornings. The outer windowpanes certainly were this day.

Rebecca squinted out from under the covers - the sun had probably been up for an hour or so, but she’d managed to doze back off until the increasing light (and insufficiently decreasing nighttime chill) prevented another thump of her mental snooze bar. Sam was still curled up tight just a few inches away from her — she hadn’t been joking about her toes getting cold at night. In early December, Rebecca eventually demanded Sam at least keep socks on to dampen the shock when she tried to steal her body heat.

She smiled at the red-tufted lump beside her in the blankets and sleeping bags, then looked away to the improvised wood stove that was the main source of heat in the apartment. It was an upgrade over the old fire barrels, but still based on them — she’d remembered her uncle’s cabin and its large stone-encased stove, a European design where short hot fires would heat the stone around them so the warmth would slowly radiate out over the next several hours.

They’d attempted to follow suit with the apartments in the complex. Electric heating was just too inefficient — it basically generated heat by wasting power. Even warming one or two apartments would run through their daily solar and wind accumulation way too fast, even if it weren’t for the shorter days and frequent snow accumulating on the solar panels. So, they’d added duct "chimneys" to the 50 gallon drums, routed to vents that would eventually lead outside, but sloping gently across the rooms to maximize heat exchange from the departing smoke. The bases of the drums were filled up with rocks, chunks of concrete scrap, and shovelfuls of gravel to store heat under the coals.

Sam and Leonard thought up re-usable plywood forms that fit around the drums, adding shells of quick-mix cement and crumpled-up chicken wire (for strength) around the top halves for even more thermal mass. Often, those incorporated a hollow spot on top for a cooking pot. 

Some residents opted to let their daytime fires burn down the entire way and build a pile of kindling before retiring for the night, ready for a quick morning ignition. Rebecca and Sam had decided they got a more restful night’s sleep if they stoked a mid evening fire and let it burn down into coals that would slowly smolder overnight. It kept the temperature more comfortable, and it didn’t use a match or a little bit of lighter fluid every single morning. The benefits weren’t purely practical though. The soothing ritual of watching a crackling fire gradually dim every evening before bed, usually curled up next to Sam, went a long way to helping Rebecca relax. God knows everyone needed as much mental health reinforcement as they could get.

Unfortunately, that decision meant more time getting the fire going again in the morning. Rebecca regretted the tradeoff a little every day, but groaned quietly and told herself she was going to brave the cold so Sam didn’t have to. She scooted up to a sitting position, hastily digging out the sweatshirt she kept under the covers, pulled it on over the long-sleeved soft thermal shirt she slept in, and pivoted to stuff her feet into her shoes for extra insulation from the cold floor. Even with the carpets they’d managed to spread in many parts of their increasingly cozy home, there was still concrete right underneath, and no rug near the stove for fire safety reasons.

(Ronnie and Leonard assured everyone the building’s sprinkler system did seem to be pressurized, and they’d made sure everyone had a few extinguishers, but it wasn’t like there was a fire department to call, or renter’s insurance to file claims with. Everyone got a carbon monoxide detector running off of rechargeable batteries, too.)

She pulled a spare blanket from the wooden rocking chair next to the bed and hugged it tightly around her as she crossed the room, lifted the lid on the metal trunk they used for storing anything flammable near the fire, and shoved two balls of crumpled up paper into the front of the barrel. After building a a small cone of kindling around them, she stirred up the ash underneath and blew on the coals for a minute or so to set them aglow again.

She sighed with satisfaction when a flame finally sprung from the curling, blackened edges of the paper, and set the covered pot next to the stove into its dedicated hollow. They always had that ready to go lately, for morning tea or oatmeal (ugh… they needed to find more things to flavor the plain bulk stuff with…) and so forth.

Glancing at the bathroom door, she decided she could wait a little longer if it meant getting to warm up by an established fire after braving the cold seat, so she added two chunks of scrap pine lumber to the growing fire and slipped back under the covers for a while.

Propped up on her pillow, she drifted lightly for a time, glancing at the fire periodically through half-lidded eyes. Sam had rolled over and nestled up under her arm when she returned to bed — losing her hat in the process — and when Rebecca wasn’t watching the fire or just keeping an ear on it while she rested her eyes, she enjoyed tilting her head down to nuzzle her cheek against Sam’s tousled bedhead. They’d be coming up on six months of being "official" soon, and things with her were starting to feel like a pleasant new normal as they grew out of the initial shiny period.

That thought prompted her to wrap her other arm around Sam too and hold her tighter, and after a few minutes, Sam hummed happily and spoke without opening her eyes. "Mmm. Good morning, sugar. You got the fire going again, didn’t you?"

Rebecca didn’t answer verbally, but straighten some of Sam’s hair with one hand and kissed the top of her head. From above, she saw the edge of Sam’s cheek rise in a smile and felt her arm wrap around her waist under the covers. She tolerated that as long as she could, but eventually reached down and shifted it a few inches higher so Sam’s elbow was’t resting on her bladder.

"Hah. Sorry." Sam opened her eyes and tilted her head back to squint at her, and then scooted up to kiss her cheek. A bell rang twice in the distance, loud enough to be heard, but not to be impossible to go back to sleep after. Sam sat back, more upright. "I guess Allie’s almost ready. Did you still want to go today?"

Rebecca smiled a little. "Yeah, if you’re up for it, or you’re welcome to stay and sleep in. I suppose it’s too cold for you to give me a better offer." Sam’s only reply was a mock shiver and pulling the blankets tighter around herself.

It was Sunday, and the polite chime was Allie’s half-hour warning for her loosely-scheduled weekly service. Rebecca had gone the first couple of times just to be supportive, but soon discovered that even without a personal religious affiliation, and no particular tie to Christianity, she found them to be a comforting ritual. Aside from helping everyone remember what day it was, she realized she went for the doses of optimism and faith as much as anything else. Maybe a little sense of community too.

The way Allison ran the services was interesting. Usually she read a verse or two from her bible, sometimes linking it to recent or upcoming events, often asking if anyone had questions and leading a little discussion. She’d close by asking them all to sit silently for ten or fifteen minutes, leading with what Rebecca recognized from her psychology classes as the first few steps of guided meditation, talking attendees through clearing their minds and centering their focus on the immediate present… then growing quiet herself after encouraging anyone who felt moved to say something to speak up and share it with the group. After some amount of time, she’d reach out and squeeze the hands of the people seated next to her, and the little ripple of noise through the room would rouse everyone to wrap up. Usually there’d be a pitcher flask of tea, cocoa, or coffee, depending what Allie and Leonard had managed to rustle up that week for people to mingle over afterwards. Rebecca routinely skipped the coffee and let Sam have a cup all to herself, but they often shared a mug the other days, lingering and participating in conversations even if they didn’t tend to initiate them.

**

Sam welcomed her back from the bathroom with a light breakfast before they went — instant oatmeal enhanced with some diced dried fruit and a little swirl of honey. Rebecca supposed that apricots were in the same general vicinity of the rest of the peaches and cream flavoring and rolled with it. Usually they tried to stick to the more time consuming, but more available bulk dry goods, whether oats or beans and rice, etc. But, they allowed themselves an occasional dip into scavenged "old world" convenience now and then. Rebecca had to admit, she missed Trent’s creations, between his experience and more developed resources. But they got by. After they’d taken Rufus out for a morning pee and filled his bowls, they ruffled his ears and slipped into the main hallway, leaving him in their apartment. Rebecca self-consciously tugged her baggy hoody a little lower, trying not to feel too indecent going to "church" in clingy-but-warm thermal leggings, somewhere between yoga pants and a neoprene wetsuit.

Allison and Leonard welcomed everyone into their condo, already defrosted a little by their stove and getting warmer from the gathering visitors. Rebecca thought she and Sam got slightly longer hugs on their way in, and contemplated briefly how all of Allison’s embraces were sideways now that her baby bump was really manifesting. It surprised her a little how Allie was definitely starting to fill something of a "foster mom" spot in her head, between the way she’d nurtured her through the initial stages of trauma after Jaime’s death, and the way she seemed so ready for a child of her own. Rebecca had faith that if anyone could raise a little one in the state of the world, it would be Allie… and as she half listened to Allison’s mellifluous reading of a few bible verses, Rebecca reflected that she was damned well going to do anything she could to boost those chances. Having a sense of purpose felt like it couldn’t be overvalued — especially these days.

She chewed on that idea more as the gathering progressed to the quiet time at the end, and even with Allie’s focusing guidance, it was the one thing she couldn’t get out of her head. In fact, the more she tried, the more important it seemed to become, and she felt a strong, insistently growing adrenaline tingle that she couldn’t shake. Eventually, especially when she saw Allison unconsciously caressing her growing abdomen, it got to the point Rebecca couldn’t contain it anymore. She squeezed Sam’s hand before letting go and stood up from her folding chair to speak.

"I… apologize if this is as embarrassing for Allison as it is for me. I’m not much of a public speaker, but… " She felt Sam reach up and squeeze her hand again, not letting go, and squeezed back in brief appreciation as everyone’s eyes turned to her as she gulped and pushed through her stage fright. "Just… the world’s so f… messed up still, and Allie’s been a source of light in it for me for a while now." She noticed at least two or three other people nod in agreement. Allie gazed at her with a surprised but patient expression, half of a slight smile on her face. So classic, coming from her. Rebecca took a deep breath and fumbled her way forward. 

"In the face of so much sadness, here she is bringing a new life into the world. It’s a kind of braveness I don’t know if I’d have. And… " she wiped a tear away and felt her chest and voice grow tight. "And… it gives me hope and I’m thankful for it and the gift she is giving us by treating us like family and sharing it all with us." She blurted out a final "We love you Allie, we’re here for whatever you and your little one need!" before sitting down, letting out a shaky sigh of relief, and clinging to Sam’s arm as she wiped her eyes again repeatedly.

She heard Sam sniffle too and looked up to see her dabbing her own eyes. Sam elbowed her sharply and whispered, "You butt. Making me cry!"

Rebecca smiled apologetically in reply, and as Sam switched which hand was holding Rebecca’s and used the original to rub her back supportively, Rebecca gathered enough nerve to look up at Allie, hoping desperately to see approval. Unsurprisingly, Allison had been watching her, waiting, and smiled warmly as she mouthed a silent "Thank you" across the room to her.

A short while later, while nursing a mug of rosy-scented tea (not "Rosie scented", that was the apple-cinnamon brew last week…), Rebecca tried to hide from everyone next to Samantha while Allison shook hands and hugged her way through the guests. When she inevitably reached them, Rebecca spoke up.

"Hi Allie… I’m sorry, I hope that was okay." She didn’t miss Sam’s pointed "Shut up, dummy!" frown at her apology from next to her.

"Rebecca… Remy, as I hear Sam call you sometimes…" She smiled at Sam warmly for a moment before refocusing on Rebecca. "You honor me and humble me. That was beautiful." She reached up and patted the side of Rebecca’s face, who leaned into the touch and closed her eyes for a second. She wasn’t sure what to do next, hoping Allie and her grace would somehow help her move forward from feeling like an awkward duckling, but Sam was the one to rescue her.

"Remy, that was incredibly sweet. But… please, next time, warn me first so I can bring a hankie to bawl into, okay?" Her teasing was gentle, her voice soft, but it provided Rebecca with an opportunity to laugh quietly and nod as Allie lowered her hand away.

"Okay. Sure. Like I totally planned that ahead of time. I’ll try."

Sam shook her head. "Oh, how many times do I have to tell you. There…"

"… is no try. I know." Rebecca finished the sentence and nodded, smiling wanly at her.

Allison chuckled. "You two are adorable. Rhonda told me on the way to her watch this morning that we’re expecting some company?"

Rebecca’s face brightened. Dammit, Allie had probably done that on purpose! Ah well. She could live with friends gently manipulating her to make her happy. "Yeah! Chrissie and Pat should be here late today with some other folks. It sounds like Lieutenant Fairbanks wants to talk about using the other main building as some kind of local logistics hub. It’ll be nice to see them again."

Patrick and Christine had been laying low at Broadway through the last storm or two, helping them protect their agricultural beds and run an inventory of what supplies they’d diminished most over the winter. It had probably been about five weeks since Rebecca had seen them, so she was excited when little Nate, the kid in the wheelchair up on Five, had called on the local radio to let her know they were on the line for her. He’d taken to helping out with monitoring the nascent comms station, and greatly enjoyed diligently taking down messages as calls came in, or paging the relevant recipient on their smaller neighborhood system. Tania, his mother, loved that it gave him something stimulating within his easily accessible domain.

Allie commented on how it would indeed be good to see them, hugged both Rebecca and Sam again, and moved on. Rebecca pondered for a moment how physical contact was returning as a social norm… perhaps even intentionally so to demonstrate a personal connection… after the year following the outbreak, when everyone retreated into their own small personal quarantine space. Several months ago, the idea of someone touching several people in rapid succession was foreign and scary. Now, it was heading back towards the routine it used to be.

A whole year, and a few months on top. She knew it wasn’t much longer until it’d be one year since Jaime’s death, knew it was creeping one day closer at a time, and knew she wasn’t looking forward to it. She was already developing anxiety just about how the day itself would affect her, on top of the background ache that thinking of him inevitably brought. She shook those thoughts away as Sam finished chatting with Leonard about infrastructure stuff and rejoined her to go collect Rufus and long coats.

**

They did a loop outside to let Rufus get some mileage in, shoes crunching through frost rime that lingered on the swaths of ground still shaded by the building. Soon, their path led through the agricultural projects on the south side of the building.

The bucket loader / backhoe hadn’t just helped with fortifications. It had dramatic benefit on the construction of planting space. They could fill a pickup truck with fertile soil in just a scoop or two, and they’d just brought a load back from a golf course last week. It looked to Rebecca like that had added another three planting beds. Come spring, everyone was eager to see what they could grow with all the new space.

The plastic bags they’d draped over their small initial collection of fruit trees were still intact, and the first few weeds were starting to sprout in the fresh dirt. Rebecca briefly pondered how tending the garden from weeds to curated crops was a good representation of mindfully developing little disparate pockets of survivors into a cooperative network of settlements. She especially liked comparing mutually beneficial trade arrangements to planting symbiotic crops together — something about one kind of plant enriching the soil nitrogen that made another flourish, or pest repellent herbs mixed with vulnerable vegetables? There was a chapter in one of Allie’s books that covered that technique, and they were eager to see if it boosted their yields.

Lurking anniversary dread started to bubble something else up to the surface though, something about Sam she worried over from time to time. When their little walk-around reached the interior battery banks, she thought it might give them a little privacy. Nobody really came around where they’d moved the solar array’s power storage to for winter, leveraging Sam’s wiring expertise to get the batteries indoors away from the cold. But, the petite engineer liked to periodically walk through the rows and shelves, checking for any leaking batteries, loose clamps, or signs of overheated wiring. She knew any little thing might reduce efficiency or cause a disaster.

Rebecca waited by a window for Sam to finish the bank she was inspecting, removing one glove to scritch the top of Rufus’ head idly. Sam must have realized something was on her mind, because she came over to lean against the same windowsill and tilted her head at Rebecca, bumping their shoulders together.

"Hey you. Penny?" Sam had been letting her hair grow for a bit, and it was peeking out of her knit beanie again, hanging lopsidedly past her chin while she looked at Rebecca inquiringly. Rebecca smiled at the little piece of relationship shorthand they’d developed, mentally autocompleting the implied "for your thoughts".

"Hi you. The way you supported me at Allie’s was really nice, thank you. You’re always there for me, it seems."

Sam, or "Rosie" as Rebecca thought of her when they were having quiet, close moments like this, smiled. "Of course, you know I always am. But I can tell I’m going to get a nickel’s worth this time, what’s up?"

"I was just thinking…"

"Uh-oh…" Sam smiled at her with a gentle teasing tone to her voice.

"Yeah, I know. Kinda dangerous, right? But… I was thinking how you always ARE here for me, and, I dunno. I just started to worry a bit that it might be lopsided. Especially now that we’ve been together long enough to be moving from twitterpation and the honeymoon phase into a committed, solid relationship. Like, you’re always making sure I’m okay in so many ways, taking good care of me. But do I do enough back? Do I reciprocate enough? I know you care about me and enjoy being with me, but… I worry what you get out of 'us', if it’s enough."

Sam shook her head a little, smile still there, but more thoughtful now. "Oh, Remy. You always answer your own questions when we have talks like this, you just never see it right away." Her lips pinched sideways in a motion Rebecca had learned to recognize in the last few months. It was the expression Sam made when assembling free-floating thoughts into a coherent sentence, so she waited patiently without growing nervous about the brief silence, for once. Five or six seconds later, Sam continued.

"Even just you asking about that, being concerned about my side of things, is a good example. Remember what I told you early on, after that wonderful first little smooch washing Rufus. Your big beautiful heart is still so full of love even after the hurt of everything you’ve been through. You care, in the face of the fucking end of civilization, babe. Your empathy. Your concern for others. It’s too easy to go every-jackass-for-themself these days, and you are everything that stands against that. Not just by way of force and arms, but by the way you live your life day to day. That’s what I want in my life, dear." Sam linked her hands gently behind Rebecca’s neck in a loose embrace, and kissed her lightly before leaning back to finish talking. "Especially these days. That’s what I get out of being with you. Staying close to that. And that’s why I’m so protective of you, too. Not just because I care about you and don’t want you to get hurt. Because I’m also protecting the little candle flame of light and good and hope I’m so lucky to have close to me."

Rebecca’s anxiety melted away in the face of all that, even if she still struggled to think of herself the way Sam apparently did. She wrapped her arms around Sam’s waist. "Oh, Rosie."

"I know, I’m wonderful. All just because I try to convince you that you are, apparently. I see you looking for the kind of hope you give me outside of yourself all the time." That, Rebecca could acknowledge readily. "I just hope that someday, the biggest gift I think I could give you, is helping you get to the point that your own little internal light is windproof, self sustaining. Like a little fusion reactor. Until then, I’m just going to keep bombarding you with megajoule lasers and just keep trying to squish all those little fragmented parts of you into one coherent whole, hoping you reach ignition and go exothermic."

Rebecca shook her head with an amused grin. "I have no idea what you just said, Rosie. But I think I get the point."

"Good." Sam kissed her on the tip of her nose, and nodded out the window behind Rebecca. "Because I think our friends are here. Just remember, good relationships aren’t transactional. I don’t have to receive every time I give. Wait, that…"

"Phrasing, dear." Rebecca give her a naughty little smirk and eyebrow quirk.

"Yeah, yeah. I know. That was awkwardly said. But, I’m good with us. I promise you. But come on, let’s go see the gang, huh?" Sam took Rebecca’s hand in hers, but didn’t just tow her away. Rebecca realized she was waiting compassionately for her to confirm they’d covered what she needed to.

"Yeah, okay." She squeezed Sam’s hand affectionately, and pushed away from the wall. "Thank you, Sam."

Samantha hugged Rebecca’s arm as they started to walk. "Of course." When she patted her own leg to encourage Rufus to come with them, he sprung up and trotted along. "I hope the lovebirds are ready for Dogzilla’s enthusiasm at their return."

Rebecca held open a heavy metal fire door for her and Rufus. "You know they probably call us that, right?"

Sam shrugged on her way by into the colder hallway, and blew a puff of steam into the air. "Speaking of exothermic." She pulled her hat down over her ears, and made a point of huddling up against Rebecca for a few steps. "I also stick around so I can steal your body heat. Brrr!"

**

Sam was grateful their visitors had the good sense to park in the sun, but out of the wind. Sure, it wasn’t snowing anymore, but the mornings still had enough lingering chill to sting her eyes and cheeks, and make her ears and nose hurt. She pulled her hood up over her hat and kept her hands balled up into fists, jammed under her arms, as she walked with Rebecca and Rufus through the garden beds again to greet Christine, Patrick, and whoever they’d brought with them. There was a big white pickup truck behind Chris and Pat’s Humvee, the latter of which she’d barely recognized when it pulled in and she spotted it through the window.

Apparently it had been repainted in the weeks since they’d been to the Garden last. The solid black color scheme from the PMC had been mostly covered with haphazard, sometimes overlapping triangles of multiple gradients of grey, darker blues, and what were probably unpainted spaces left black. It looked… almost cubist in daylight, like something Picasso would custom order from the factory, but the hectic design started to make sense when she tried to imagine it on dark urban streets at night.

She glanced up to the second floor roofline, where the residential spaces were set back from the edge of the building, above the commercial-height ground floor spaces. She couldn’t make out who else was watching from above, but she easily identified Ronnie where she stood in a comfortably vigilant pose, magically warm GI poncho liner wrapped around her shoulders, rifle barrel protruding at a downwards angle from the front. Ronnie nodded her way in greeting, and Sam briefly pulled one gloved hand out from under her arm and unclenched it long enough for a little wave and promptly stuffed it back in. Maybe they could ask some of their military remnant contacts if they had any more of those "woobies" to spare.

As they drew close, Christine and Patrick were stepping out of the vehicle, tightening their coats around them. Chris bounded forward with an enthusiastic, drawn out "Hiiiii friends!" and wrapped her arms around both Sam and Rebecca at the same time. Patrick made his way around the front of the Humvee more sedately and exchanged individual hugs of greeting, commenting on the impressive new planter beds. Sam could hear the engine ticking as it cooled, and she hastened to get close to the toasty front grill to alternately warm her hands and back against it.

Rebecca chuckled softly to herself at the sight of Sam pivoting like a rotisserie — with her slimmer build, she always seemed to run cold. Rebecca, on the other hand, had noticed her appetite improve along with her average mood in the last few months — the two of those probably fed into each other, pun not intended. Now that she was with someone again, she’d also been paying more attention to her own appearance, and noticed her cheeks starting to fill back in. Between putting a little more meat back on her bones, and getting better about providing her body with a proper supply of calories to burn on any given day, maybe she was more resistant to the chill?

In the few seconds it took Rebecca to mull that over, Sam noticed her amused gaze and smiled back. She was glad Remy had seemingly taken her reply to heart, relieved she didn’t look like something was still weighing on her. Between that and their friends arriving, she’d probably be in a good state for a while.

While contending with Rufus’ enthusiastic greeting, Christine and Patrick saw the other couple exchange their cheerful glances, and Chris was pleased to see them doing well together. "So, you two… happy to see you’re still putting up with each other. You said on the radio the other day that things have been good here?"

Rebecca eyes went back to Christine, and her voice was pretty upbeat. "Uh, yeah! Everybody’s pretty healthy, and things have been calm. We’re all starting to get pretty sick of shelf-stable foods, clinging to the last of Allie’s canning to maintain a little variety. But, come spring… " She gestured at the expanded planting areas behind her. "Leonard’s going to put up another greenhouse next week too." She looked past Chris when she heard the pickup doors open and recognized one of the dismounting occupants, so she waved past her friends and raised her voice. "Good morning, Lance!" 

"Ooh rah, ma’am!" Lance Corporal Doug Epstein, one of Lieutenant Fairbanks’ men and a pretty sharp motor pool and logistics wizard, called back with a wave, and snapped a salute upwards to Ronnie. He wore a warmer-looking version of the uniform Rebecca had last seen him in and a parka, and seemed to be handling the cold about as well as she was. Definitely better than Sam, who had just scaled the hood of the Humvee and sat upon it cross-legged with her hands under her thighs, with a relieved expression distinctly akin to a cat in a sunbeam… if you didn’t count the way her shoulders hunched up and she seemed to shrink into her coat.

She and Rebecca shared another brief "you’re adorable" / "yes, I know I am, btw he called you ma’am and you didn’t react violently" / "oh shush you" moment of eye contact as Christine stepped back to make room for Epstein and his companion, and Patrick leaned against the edge of the hood, figuring there no sense letting the warm spot Sam upgraded from be wasted. Rufus, predictably, approached the newcomers with only slight hesitation and sniffed at their hands and legs hoping for attention and/or treats. He didn’t show any sign of remembering meeting Epstein, but he’d previously made an impression of his own.

"Yes, hello again boy. Nice to see you too." Epstein preemptively braced himself before Rufus bumped into him, and patted the dog’s shoulder. The older woman who accompanied him seemed to smile politely at Rufus and gently rebuff him, so he circled back to Patrick for more attention while Epstein introduced the woman. "Rebecca Clinton, Samantha Conroy, please meet Amira Zaman, former city councilwoman." Rebecca noticed he used her and Sam’s full names, which she didn’t recall ever coming up in conversation the couple of times they’d talked, so that implied something official, organized about his visit. 

"Ladies, I’ve heard much about you." Rebecca hastily pulled a glove off as Amira reached to shake her hand like a seasoned politician, and nodded courteously to Sam. Rebecca suspected Ms. Zaman was running through the same once-over that she was giving her, and was abruptly glad she’d brushed her hair a few extra times before going to Allie’s. She quickly felt a rush of self-consciousness like she was being appraised by a teacher or job interview.

"It’s nice to meet you, Councilwoman Zaman." Rebecca wasn’t sure what her presence indicated and was trying to stay on her toes.

"Oh, please. I had barely finished my term when all of this insanity started, and there is really neither city nor council for me to be on, leaving us with just 'woman'. Compared to that, I’d much rather you just call me Amira, dear."

"Yes ma’am. Uh, Amira." Rebecca hoped her blush was hidden beneath already cold-rosied cheeks, suddenly sympathizing with a low ranking soldier trying to switch gears from ingrained formality. In fact, she thought Epstein caught her unconscious glance his way, but he studiously withheld any reaction. Manners and a glance at Sam got her mental feet back under her again. "Why don’t we all get in out of the cold for a while? Chris, Amira, we can help carry some of your things inside if you want, or I’m sure they’ll be safe enough out here?"

She saw Sam’s raised hood nod enthusiastically from atop the engine compartment, and Patrick hold out a hand to help her slide down. Chris simply grabbed a day pack from the back, leaving the rest for later, and when Epstein returned from the pickup, he was carrying a nonmilitary duffle that was probably Amira’s. Rebecca saw the strap of a long gun over his shoulder too, and it occurred to her he was thoroughly trained to never let it out of his sight. Not that she could blame him, as she was briefly more conscious of the weight of her radio and pistol in her pockets.

As they neared the building again, Rebecca looked up to Rhonda. "Hey, Ronnie…"

"Mornin, cookie. How’re things?" Rhonda placed one boot on the raised edge of the roof and looked down at her.

"You know. End of the world. I think the best place to warm everyone up is gonna be ours, since I had the fire going earlier. See you there later? I know you’re on shift right now."

Ronnie nodded at her. "Sounds like a plan. I’ll see if I can get someone to sub in for a bit, looks to me like Fairbanks has something brewing."

Rebecca turned her head just a little bit towards the group as they passed behind her. "Yeah. I guess we haven’t had enough excitement lately."

That got a chuckle. "S’pose not. Don’t go saving the world without me."

Rebecca started a few step backwards. "You know I wouldn’t dream of it."

Ronnie chuckled when Rebecca turned face first into Sam, waiting behind her, with a surprised yelp followed by both girls laughing. She really had been inhaling to warn her, but smiled approvingly to herself as they linked arms and rejoined the group. Of the two, she’d known Sam for a few months longer, and she was definitely a smart, kind, capable kid. Rebecca was showing some impressive maturity as she came out of that deep shell she’d retreated into, and had proven to be a resourceful and dependable fighter, despite her inexperience and self-doubt. Maybe because she was always willing to admit what she didn’t know. Now, if she could only recognize all the things she had an intuitive grasp of, she could really go places. Either way. It was good to see her happy.

**

Inside, Sam tossed a handful of kindling and another chunk of lumber scrap into the barrel, checking the level of the pot of water and replacing the lid. It was still warm enough for her to bring out almost all of the mugs they owned and their collection of various teas, cocoa packets, and powdered cider, and ladle out polite offerings while Rebecca brought an armful of blankets and sleeping bags out from the bedroom.

Christine and Patrick settled on a large beanbag that they liked to share when they visited (as usual, Rufus climbed up between them), and Rebecca and Sam abdicated their small Ikea couch to Epstein and Amira. (They’d felt awkward taking furniture from a nearby townhome when they disassembled it, moved it in, and reassembled it in their living room, but leaving an apologetic note somehow helped a little bit, even if they knew deep down nobody was likely to ever come home to it.) After Rebecca and Sam felt like they’d been sufficient hosts, they settled on a pair of barstools by the kitchen breakfast bar.

They’d already made small talk on the way upstairs about how the drive over had been (Chris and Pat were starting to memorize where each remaining uncleared vehicle obstructed part of the road, and there hadn’t been too much black ice), and how Broadway was faring (well enough, they relayed greetings from various acquaintances), so now that everyone was cozied up, Sam and Rebecca looked to their guests with politely expectant faces. Chris and Pat seemed to turn to Epstein, who apparently felt he had the most explaining to do.

"Thank you for the literally warm welcome, ladies." He held a lightly steaming cup between now-gloveless hands and smiled congenially. "As you can imagine, the L-T sends his regards. He was also the one who suggested the Councilwoman…" (Rebecca noticed the slightest flicker of an eye-roll from Amira.) "…come along to meet you. Captain Tierman thinks her involvement is key to reconstruction efforts in the area."

Amira’s reply was curmudgeonly, but gradually became charmingly so. "Pfft. Please. I am merely the only surviving relic of municipal government the captain and her industrious legions could dig up to add a sense of legitimacy to their plans. It seems they are concerned with how their actions will be perceived by others, both immediately and in the future." She paused to take a sip of the tea Sam had provided. "As if anyone is really paying attention to Posse Comitatus. Still, I admire their dedication to their principles, and if there are so many like your good sergeant on the rooftop who are taking up their mantles of service again, it would be boorish of me to sit upon my ass and refuse to do the same, when my primary task is to argue with people, not be shot at by idiots who don’t want help."

Rebecca still wasn’t entirely sure where this was going, but the sassy older woman was growing on her. While Amira was talking, Rebecca got her first good look at her with her hat off and coat open. She was somewhere in her fifties, her face showing both crow’s feet at the sides of her eyes and smile lines in her cheeks, and the hint of a furrow in her brow that implied she’d spent nearly as much time frowning intently as smiling kindly. Her thick dark hair was tidily brushed, with only a mere few grey strands, and spoke of a certain lushness Rebecca was sure she’d enjoyed a few years ago — either from youth or yet-uncollapsed civilization.

Amira waved her hand like she was dismissing a nearby flying creature. "Regardless of my opinion of my involvement, the captain is correct, further progress is going to require some big steps, and even in times like these, some people just seem to oppose change to the status quo and accuse its heralds of ulterior motives. So, I suppose I am also figuratively 'along for this ride' in the long haul, not just being chauffeured around by the gallant young man here."

When she paused to take a longer drink, Epstein took up the conversational baton. "That really is the long and short of it. The captain, the L-T, they’re aware many survivors might not look kindly on federal powers right now. Either because they were witnesses or subjects of questionable extreme measures, or we just remind them of the overarching powers-that-be… well, powers-that-were… that failed them so utterly. We don’t want to be seen as imposing our will at gunpoint, especially not by the people we’re supposed to be protecting. Miss Stanton said she explained a little about why we’re here?"

Christine spoke up. "Just at a high level… focusing supplies here, trying to use it as a hub." Rebecca nodded in her direction.

Epstein nodded too. "That sells it a little short. Right now, the big blocker to regrowth that the captain sees is the ever-present need to forage. Even with communities producing some of their own food, subsistence level agriculture isn’t enough to survive long term. Winters come, or people get sick or hurt. Thank god the water district has been such a bunch of rockstars, but every little group is scavenging for preserved food, medicine, fuel, clothing, anything they need that they can’t make themselves… and even the most industrious groups are forced to generalize. I mean, here… you’re building up farming capability. Growing food. Building defenses. Scavenging for tools and parts, whatever fuel you need that we can’t supply — more on that in a minute — basic off-the-grid power." He nodded at Sam, knowing full well she had a metaphorical big hand in both Broadway’s and the Garden’s lights turning on. "Spread that thin, it limits how much scale and elevation can be achieved in any one of those needs."

Rebecca followed him so far, but… "Where do we come in?"

He gestured around at the apartment walls and ceiling around them. "Centralization. Going to the store used to let us get everything we need in one or two places at once. Right now, it’s like back when everyone was out plowing their own fields, chopping down their own trees. If we can gather the things everyone needs into a few locations, they can obtain them there, and spend the time and energy they save getting us back out of the dark ages."

Sam tilted her head. "So… you want to turn us into Mad Max and the Costco-dome?"

Amira snorted in amusement and Epstein took a second to close his mouth and reply. "That… is not the worst description ever. The amount of space you have here… plus the respectable defendability of the location, residents who could help staff a facility in exchange for their share of the goods…"

Rebecca mulled over his words, but began to worry. "Lance… Doug… that much resources here… that’ll make us a really juicy target. We’ve got kids here, one in a wheelchair… a pregnant woman. Some nice hardware, but only one professional soldier. Defense is really more her wheelhouse, but I’ve picked up enough to be concerned." Sam’s brow crinkled, like she was arriving at the same thoughts. Rebecca looked over to her friends on the beanbag.

"Chrissie, Pat… I can’t picture Lassart sticking his neck out for others. What’s Broadway’s position on all this?"

"You’re not wrong, Bex." Christine still used the name she’d originally gotten in the habit of addressing her with. Not really a problem usually, Ronnie still did too sometimes, especially on duty. "They don’t have the space, or the quality of leadership, that you… we, do here."

Rebecca sat back in the stool for a moment, her thoughts withdrawing and the quiet crackle of the small fire capturing her attention for some reason. Imagine if Jaime had known where coming here would lead… She realized she was fiddling with the chain on her neck when Sam reached over to touch her other hand, knowing what general direction that meant her thoughts had gone. Rebecca replied by smiling tenderly at her, wanting to communicate gratitude and that she’d be okay. 

Sam stifled a passing urge to give Christine a dirty look over the "old" nickname, thinking it made Rebecca think of Jaime. Chris was generally pretty nice, and Sam didn’t want to be seen as "that" girlfriend, so she let it drop.

Epstein resumed speaking, unaware of the exchange and Sam’s internal debate. "We’re… sensitive to the increased risk that would bring you. Captain Tierman believes, not just here but philosophically, that consolidating what she has to protect will allow her to make bigger commitments where we need to. We wouldn’t be spread so thin either. In your case, that includes offering to station a small garrison team here if you’ll have them, and the lieutenant suggested making this a forward operating base for regional patrols too, providing both area security and increasing our onsite presence."

Sam took the lead for a minute, wanting to give Rebecca a moment to settle her feelings. "That might help… but given Black Tusk’s focus on you last time, doing that might draw undesired attention too. Still, it’s worth discussing, when Ronnie can join us. If we table the tactical stuff for now, what about logistics? Christine’s side of things. Procurement. Where would it all come from?"

Epstein nodded to acknowledge shift in topic. "Some of it from our own reserves and supply chain, like the occasional aid distributions we bring around, but streamlined, because we could deliver it to fewer destinations. But… we’re not at the point we can just reboot the entire economy with wishful thinking. In this situation… consolidating everything here, or wherever, means doing a lot of the gathering and scavenging for people, but en masse, before they can come to it all here. Like, rolling up to warehouses and loading what’s left into a truck, emptying stores of whatever’s left and bringing it all to the hub, or hubs.."

"Ah." Rebecca rejoined the conversation. "Now I see why you’re worried about being unpopular." Epstein nodded, seeing she understood, while she continued. "You can practically count on some people seeing that as taking it all for yourselves, the jack-booted imperialists coming in to steal their food and screw everything up again. 'We’re from the government, and we’re here to help'."

"Yes. Even if we tell them it’s to be shared, and where to come get their slice of it, and even other resources they didn’t have access to yet…" He shrugged impotently.

Rebecca remembered Amira’s words from earlier. "Ulterior motives, and people who don’t want to be helped." Amira inclined her head towards Rebecca approvingly, like she’d figured out the answer to quiz question. The slight toasting motion with her mug was a nice touch.

"And hence the need for legitimacy," Amira said smoothly. "If they try to make me acting mayor or something, the first official thing I’ll do is quit. But none of us can afford for our friends in camouflage to be perceived as power-mad looters. Their hope is positioning themselves as supporting a reanimated city government, providing the heavy lifting for our local emergency measures, will separate people’s opinions of them from their reactions. Hopefully letting the reluctant see past their emotions and realize that the new way of life they’re trying to push out is at least _a_ way of life!"

Her involvement definitely was making more sense now. "Well, I guess every apocalypse needs its zombies, now we know where to get ours."

Amira made that same guttural amused noise as before. "Dear, ponderous, lethargic, asthmatic brainlessness is a pretty accurate description for government BEFORE the end of the world. I should know." (Rebecca wondered for a moment if she’d encountered Lassart back in the day?) "But, perhaps when we rise again, we can do it as those more energetic, alacritous undead your generation seems to prefer in your fiction."

Yeah, okay. Rebecca was getting to be pretty sure she could work with this lady. "Maybe." She looked back at Epstein. "But you mentioned trucks… and all this stuff is going to be pretty spread out…"

Sam nodded next to her. "Yeah, I hope you’re not expecting me to somehow charge up that many electric vehicles. We’ll die of old age waiting for enough solar and wind power." (Sam had built a small prototype windmill on the roof, and was toying with ideas of some kind of hydroelectric setup, either gravity fed with their own water usage or out in the river.)

Rebecca resumed. "Right, and with just the little bit of fuel you can spare for us every once in a while…" She paused and tilted her head. "Chris, why are you smiling like you know what I’m getting for my birthday before I do?"

"Because I do." Christine was clearly gloating at her, and Patrick was fighting to suppress his amused reaction.

"Heh. Maybe I should get to that part." Epstein cut in before Rebecca’s urge to throttle Chris could grow too much. Sam reconsidered her earlier decision, while Rebecca looked back to Epstein with a raised eyebrow. "Have you heard of the Plantation and Colonial pipelines?"

"No, but they sound old."

Amira laughed, a sharp barking one. "Hah! I’ll try not to be offended. They were built after World War II, but most of the big spills that made news were probably before you were out of diapers, young lady."

Rebecca couldn’t help but smile as she replied. "I’ll try not to be offended." She hoped her read on Amira was right, and the woman would respect a little sparring, not take umbrage with it.

Epstein’s voice pulled her attention back before she could watch for a reaction though. "So, there are no big refineries around here anymore. Instead, the pipelines transported various petroleum products from the Gulf up through the coastal states. We’re assuming they’re shut down now, but there were storage facilities attached to them. The biggest terminal around here is down at Norfolk. But… like you were just saying, too many resources in one place gets a lot of attention. Even if Black Tusk, or someone else, even a friendly, hasn’t taken it over already, it’s definitely on their radar and they might down the road. Captain Tierman had her eyes on the smaller Plantation terminal in Newington instead, maybe setting up a base and a QRF at Davison, Belvoir, or even Quantico. But it looks like those jackasses made a push up the Potomac to DC a while back, and we’ve picked up radio chatter about them taking over the airport. It only makes sense to assume they hit the bases along the way or left a presence behind. We also think that’s what our little run in with them was about last year."

A ripple of frowns and scowls passed through the room, and Epstein let it subside before continuing. "There is some good news, though. We pivoted to start small, build capability without overreach… and found a small commercial terminal just off the river, with both propane and fuel distribution companies literally across the street. Both substantial stock and delivery capability in the same spot."

Rebecca sat up. That wasn’t unreasonably far away. "I didn’t know we were allowed to have that kind of good luck. How much is there?"

"It’s not full, but… it gives us a little over a half million gallons of various fuels."

She found herself clutching Sam’s hand to steady herself, and saw the mischievous twinkle in Christine’s eyes. "That… Jesus. Holy shit."

Epstein nodded. "And if anyone wants to try and get their hands on it, they’ll need to get past the four amtracs we literally just drove up the river from Fort A.P. Hill."

Sam sought to clarify his remark, which Rebecca was wondering about too. "I’m assuming you’re not talking about trains? What am I missing?"

"Sorry. Amphibious assault vehicles. They sorta look like giant chubby alligator with a fifty and a grenade launcher on top. They’re no tank, but they apparently make for a hell of a roadblock. So, a small facility, not too much ground to cover, low profile, and 'light' armor protecting it." (He air-quoted the adjective with his fingers.) "Without more coming in, it won’t last forever. But for now…"

Rebecca was still boggled by the numbers. "… it’s a hell of a lot more than we had, what we were stringing along on in shoestring survival mode."

Epstein nodded. "Yup. We can get the big vehicles going again when we need them, run generators to charge up recon drones or keep the lights on in a field hospital, up our patrol tempo, do more scouting. It’s the first big break we’ve gotten since you ladies rolled up the PMC and some of the satellite networks woke back up a little before Christmas."

Sam slid off the stool and stood near to Rebecca, sliding her arm around her back. "Remy… with that much gas…"

Rebecca’s reply was just as quiet. "Yeah… we could check on our families. Holy shit."

Amira must have been well practiced at wrapping up meetings when she wanted to. "Well, Mister Epstein. We seem to have given them a lot to think about. Ladies, I’m sure you will want some time to consider things, to talk to your friends and neighbors. Perhaps we should adjourn for a little while, get settled in, have the right conversations with the right people at the right times…"

Rebecca pulled herself back into focus. "Right… that sounds good. Pat, Chris, your place is right where it was a few weeks ago. Leonard left some firewood at your door when he heard you were coming, and I’m sure everyone around here will be eager to see you. Doug… uh, since our fuel supply apparently just became much more replenishable, you know where the big visitor RV is, right? Maybe you and Ms. Zaman… sorry, Amira, would be most comfortable there once you fire up the heater? There’s clean sheets in one of the cupboards if you look around."

Amira started to shift to extract herself from the blankets on the couch. "Sheets? You spoil me, my dear." She rose, and passed her mug to Sam when she reached for it. "Thank you again for the tea. You’re proving to be quite the hostesses in these times."

"If this all works out, maybe next time I can have some cookies ready too." Rebecca’s mind was still rapidly enumerating possibilities the morning’s revelation seemed to unlock.

Amira smiled, and Epstein was excited as he collected Chris and Patrick’s mugs and relayed them to the counter. "Oh yeah, now you’ve got my attention." He looked to Amira. "Ma’am, believe me, she made an impression on an entire platoon’s worth of us with the only homemade cookies we’d had, and have had, in months. I don’t think Lieutenant Fairbanks has that on his list of potential benefits yet, but I bet he’ll add it posthaste once I point it out."

Dismay was starting to creep onto Rebecca’s face, but Patrick reassured her as he passed with Christine. "Don’t worry, we’ll help stir the batter and all that." 

That lightened her mood. "Well, thank you. We’ll need to calculate how much dough pilfering will impact our yields as more people get involved though. Probably double if Chris is there."

Patrick laughed as he held the door open for Christine, who didn’t even bother trying to argue. "Yeah, alright. I can’t deny that."

The door drifted closed with a soft clunk, muffled by the extra foam weather stripping they’d installed. Rebecca sighed and started washing the guests’ mugs, which Sam passed over to her one at a time, and then dried in turn. They didn’t say much during the comfortable interlude of domestic routine and when they were done, Sam shooed Rebecca to settle on the couch. She topped up her own cup with the mint and lemongrass green tea that she knew was her girlfriend’s current favorite and brought it over to share.

"So…" she sat sideways next to Rebecca, tucking her feet under herself and pulling a blanket over their laps while Rufus settled on the floor in front of them.

"Penny, right?"

"Uh-huh. I saw all those different wheels turning at once."

"Well, first off, holy shit. I’m still kind of at that."

"Fair enough. I’m somewhere around 'pinch me'. But don’t, I don’t want to spill this."

Rebecca smiled, appreciating Sam’s well-honed balance between gentle probing and alleviating humor. "The possibilities are… actually a little scary. Sure, we haven’t been living the easy life or anything, but I was starting to feel like I had it under control, you know? A lot could change."

Sam nodded acceptingly. "For sure. Just remember that some of it could be really good, you know? Imagine if Allie only needed to send Leonard across the street for diapers or formula in a few months."

Rebecca leaned closer so their shoulders met. "I know, really. It would probably be for the best, if we can do it without attracting trouble. We gotta talk to everyone about it."

"Of course. As far as trouble is concerned… it might come looking for us anyway, and if we’re well stocked up, dug in, and have friends in the area because we’re where they come to get their food and socks and propane and whatever else… maybe we’re better positioned to punch them in the face and take their stuff." She offered the cup to Rebecca, who closed her eyes and breathed in the fragrant steam for few seconds before drinking. Meanwhile, Sam used her newly free hands to tuck the hair sticking out of her hat behind her ears. "We don’t need to solve all the problems right now anyway. This was just finding out what they’re here about."

"Right, I know. But hey, that lady really is the polar opposite of Lassart, huh?" Rebecca passed the mug back to Sam and reached for the quarter-finished baby blanket she was fumbling her way through knitting for Allie. She’d already started over three times, but it was a good way to keep busy, and she wasn’t messing up as much.

Sam nursed the tea and watched Rebecca’s hands while she ran amperage numbers in her head and pondered how she could tie a generator into their grid as an occasional "booster". Running loads directly off a gennie was more efficient at a watt per gallon level, but… there was guaranteed to be surplus generation capacity that wasn’t being utilized while fuel was still being burned, just at idle. Maybe running a generator at a steady sustained load, and dumping that all into battery storage would get more usable electricity out of each drop of fuel, even with transmission and storage losses? She was "going to have to science the shit out of this…"

**

Rhonda stopped by close to an hour later, by which point Rebecca had moved back to the bed to stretch out while she knit and dozed off several rows later. Sam looked up from the couch as Ronnie entered after a tap on the door — they’d long ago encouraged her to just enter after knocking if the door was unlocked — and held a finger to her lips and pointed to the bedroom. The old sergeant nodded and propped her rifle against the breakfast bar carefully, picking up one of the freshly washed mugs from the dish rack and ladling out some hot water at Sam’s hand-waved invitation and encouragement.

Sam closed the notebook she was sketching and scribbling in and moved the calculator at her side into her lap to clear a the other half of the couch. "Hey Sarge, take a load off, I can bring you up to speed."

Ronnie sat slowly, giving Rufus a couple of affectionate thumps as he followed her. She was still stiff from the cold outside, and welcomed the opportunity to visibly relax somewhere out of the public eye. "It’s okay, Epstein filled me in. He’s actually up on the roof watching for ne’er-do-wells in my place."

"Huh. He seems like a good guy."

"Yeah, he’s pretty solid. I’d have been happy to have him in a squad back in the day. How’s our girl with all the excitement?"

Sam looked to the bedroom, and then back to Rhonda. "I think she likes Amira. I think she’s alright too, like one of those people who’s a good politician because she doesn’t want to be one. Like you told me about officers once. Something made Remy think about her man, though." Sam gestured at herself like she was pointing at a necklace.

Ronnie looked up from the cup she was warming her hands around. "Is she okay?"

"Yeah, I think so. I’m not sure what the trigger was, she kinda drifted off for a moment, but seemed alright after. Stunned by the potential implications of the plan, and the news of the fuel stash, which anyone would be. And, she wanted to talk to you about all the tactical stuff. I’m not patient enough to wait for her to wake up though, I’m curious what you think… especially if she’s not gonna like it and I have to be ready."

Ronnie gave her an amused look. "Always the engineer. Contingencies and readiness. Not that I disapprove." She looked towards the bedroom, and then the living room window. The kids had done a nice job with those curtains, probably kept the warmth in too. "I’m tentatively in favor. My guess is that any major threats, like BT, are already going to be way better stocked than we are. And, when it comes to smaller groups, like her buddy’s little group of nomads… well, she already made friends with that one, and we’ve got enough hardware to wreck similar levels of troublemakers. Cat’s group hasn’t mentioned anyone else wandering around, and they’re good ears to have out there, they’ll get intel the official patrols won’t. They’re probably tough enough to turn into a pretty good group of irregulars too, now that I mention it."

"You mean more irregular than the rest of us?" There was laughter to Sam’s voice, which she self-consciously damped down after she realized it, wanting to be considerate of Rebecca’s nap. "Hey… umm, different topic. I don’t want to pry too much into anything that’s just her business, but… did Remy ever mention Cat to you before? I know there was a bit of a spark between them back when."

"Worried, are you?" Ronnie looked at her appraisingly for a moment, and Sam shrugged. "Don’t be. I don’t remember any mention of her before, and she’s different now than she was then. Your girl, I mean. Cat too, I’m sure. I don’t think they’d connect — I didn’t even know they were a thing in the past."

Sam nodded, looking at the bedroom, and seemed mostly satisfied. "Well, they didn’t… okay. Thanks. Just… you know. I don’t know how much of us is… not having many options."

"Sammie, that is literally the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard come out of your otherwise very smart mouth, and I’ve made a career out of hearing dumb things from people who should know better. If you’re having doubts yourself, you need to talk to her. Sooner than later."

"No, no. It’s not like that." She gestured around the apartment, and then looked at the bedroom. "I love this cozy thing we’ve got going here, and I love her. I was wondering more about the weird circumstances around us and their role in bringing us together, I guess." Sam was suddenly keenly nervous Rebecca would wake up and get worried overhearing this.

"Fair enough. Look at this way. What do you know more about than the rest of us? Electricity, chemistry, all that. Those work off of molecular and atomic bonds, attractive charges and all that, right? Lots of those are products of their surroundings, when the right two things come together in whatever circumstances. Is the fact that the two of you found the best thing to happen to either of you recently…" (Ronnie waved her hand towards Sam next to her, and then towards the bedroom.) "…in each other at all lessened in any way? Who’s to say the two of you didn’t happen despite all the shit, not because of it?"

Sam was uncommonly quiet for a moment. How people’s heads worked was Rebecca’s thing, not hers, at least until you got down to the electrochemical level inside of neurons and all that. But picturing it the way Ronnie described… "Okay." She smiled at Ronnie. "Thank you, Rhonda. I can see why she looks up to you so much. I guess… when you don’t have very many nice things, maybe you worry more about what you do." She thought for a moment more. "Hey, give me a minute? Don’t leave though…"

"Sure, kid." Ronnie nodded, so Sam rose.

Setting the notebook and calculator down on the counter, she padded quietly into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. Rebecca was either still asleep, or really good at faking it, and Sam didn’t think she’d have her mouth hanging open like that if she was pretending. Sam watched her for a moment, and then took her hand and caressed it gently. "Hey doll. Ronnie’s here. Did you want to talk to her?"

"Mmm… what?" Rebecca lifted her head (and closed her mouth…), blinking awake.

"Ronnie’s here now, hon. You want to talk to her about stuff? Or maybe later?"

Rebecca leaned her head back and closed her eyes again for a moment, then sat up, rubbed her face with the hand Sam wasn’t holding, and ran it through her hair. "No, no. Now’s good. Just gotta… get my brain back in gear." She blinked her eyes clear and made eye contact with Sam. "Hi, Rosie."

Sam patted Rebecca’s hand. "Hi Remy. Rise and shine, take two." She helped Rebecca scoot to the side of the bed and stand up into a hug. "Do you need s’more tea or anything?"

"Three, technically."

Sam stepped back from the embrace, still hanging onto one hand. "Huh?"

"Take three. I got up to start the fire so you wouldn’t be a popsicle." Rebecca stretched her neck and squeezed Sam’s hand.

"Ah, yes. My toe-warming hero." Sam kissed Rebecca on the cheek and stepped aside to let her go through the door first… taking just a moment to enjoy the unexpected pleasant, curvy view as she followed. In the other room, she collected her notebook and calculator from the counter and coaxed a capering Rufus up on the beanbag with her so the other two could catch up. He was a bit of an oaf, but almost as good a source of body heat as Rebecca.

Ronnie smiled at Rebecca’s rumpled hair as she joined her on the couch, sitting cross-legged where Sam was just a few minutes before. She had a brief image of a Charlie Brown-esque "The corpsman is in" sign before Rebecca spoke.

"Hey, Ronnie. Sorry, I hope you weren’t waiting long. I didn’t know when you’d be able to make it, and I guess I dozed off."

"Ah, it’s okay, kiddo. Sammie and I just talked a little shop until she decided you’d had enough beauty rest."

"What would I get done without her. What a task driver." Rebecca looked over to the beanbag with a teasing grin.

Sam looked up from her notebook and pointed the rear of her pen at Rebecca. "That should just prove I don’t only like you for your looks. Also, I’m merciless. Just ask Rufus. You only did like three more rows before you passed out." She fluffed the pup’s ears before going back to her work, her expression returning to a half-frown of concentration.

"Yes dear, thank you dear." Rebecca watched her for another second, shook her head a little, and turned back to Ronnie. "So… crazy morning. Did Sam catch you up a little?"

"Actually, Epstein did, after getting the councilwoman settled."

"Oh, good. Pro tip, call her Amira if you don’t want to hand her an opportunity to verbally outmaneuver you."

Ronnie chuckled. "Noted. So, their plan… go all eminent domain, requisition and expropriate the leftovers of the old world, try to keep people convinced it’s for their own good, keep would be looters at bay, try to avoid getting on any bigger fish’s radar. Does that about sum it up?"

"You forgot plop it all on our doorstep because we’re on desirable real estate. Gentrification is real." She had a brief flashback to how her dad’s cabinet business had been priced out of town after Mom sold it to his best worker. Not that it mattered now…

Ronnie might have misunderstood why she sighed. "Yeah, it seems drama keeps finding its way to our doorstep, doesn’t it?"

Rebecca smiled wistfully at her. "I guess Fairbanks and …Tierman, is it? … think we have a good track record at handling it when it does? May you live in interesting times? But… what do you think? I’m worried it would make us a big target for looters, or thieves, or raiders, whatever we’d call them."

"Well, I would hope we’d address them as first name 'tango', last name 'down', if they showed up. I was telling Red over there, honestly, I think trouble is going to find us again at some point. Our stability already makes us a bit of a target for small-time unsavory types, but we’re also above a particular capability level where it would take someone pretty organized to be a really, truly significant threat. The truth is, if some bunch of shitbirds like Black Tusk comes along again, with their act together, they’d give us real trouble. We’ve got teeth but we’re not unassailable."

"I’m not sure this is a very reassuring line of thought, Ronnie…"

"Bear with me, I’m getting there. Yes, this notion of theirs, and the increased cooperation with them, exposes us to an amount of risk. But, the resources and support attached could put us on a more even footing with a threat level we potentially have to face sooner or later anyway. I’m sure there’s something in The Art of War or one of those other books you like to reference about controlling where and when your fights happen, right? And being prepared for them?"

Rebecca sighed and looked across the room for a minute, her gaze unfocused. "Yeah, probably more than once. I just don’t know what to do, this decision affects so many people."

"Are you feeling sympathetic for Peter Lassart now?"

Rebecca’s eyes snapped back to Ronnie’s. "Fuck no!"

"Good. Because I know what you’re going to do about this."

Rebecca held her hands up and open in front of her. "Please, enlighten me, because I don’t yet." Sam looked up from her notes with a quirked eyebrow.

"You don’t claim to run this place. You’re going to talk to the people this effects, not even just Allison and Leonard, and make sure they have an opportunity to have a say in the matter because you know you don’t have to make this decision for everyone, even if you think you do." (Sam made an amusedly derisive sound, that likely meant she could have told everyone that.)

Rebecca sighed. "Great. You two haven’t ganged up on me in a while…"

Ronnie held a hand up in a shrugging gesture, and Sam waited until Rebecca looked her way, and winked at her.

**

Ronnie left a short while later, after finishing off the warm water she was drinking. She went to relieve Epstein and reassume her post, taking him a metal thermal flask Rebecca had filled and a few different teabags that Sam pulled out of their collection.

The other women resettled on the couch, pulling blankets over their laps, and Rebecca pivoted to lean against Sam’s side as a backrest, nestling under Sam’s arm and resting against her shoulder much like a reverse of their positions early in the morning. They had their knitting and notebook idle in their laps, but weren’t doing anything with them for the moment, still thinking over the big changes on the horizon.

"I mean… letting the Bigelows in a month ago, we couldn’t turn them away in the middle of winter, could we? But it definitely put a dent in our food stores, since they barely brought anything with them." Rebecca was looking up past her forehead at the edge of Sam’s face that she could see.

"Hm-mmm." Sam shook her head. "I really hate that we have to weigh our safety against trusting strangers in need and our own comfort and stability… and not getting taken advantage of. Sure, they validly were on hard times, but if people get to know they can come to us for handouts…"

"Yeah. At least if there’s a stockpile, we could take care of people who need it without dipping into our own reserves that we worked so hard on for winter, right? And… I guess if they’re settin’ up some kind of rationing system, we might not even have to be the ones making the decision. If we’re not running the show, that and a bunch of other things aren’t our problem." Rebecca looked back down and fiddled with a length of yarn between her fingers. "Well, not our responsibility, anyway. Still plenty of ways it might become our problem."

"Yeah, but… this isn’t Lassart or slacker group project freeloaders or lazy do-nothing coworkers, right? Epstein and Fairbanks and their folks have all been pretty solid, I don’t think they’d let much land on us if they can help it."

"I suppose. I dunno, I’m also starting to wonder if it might be good to have them around anyway, as, like… not quite a police force, but… some kind of security. Like, so far we’ve lucked out and have been able to kinda self govern, by consensus as a small community. But if we keep growing, eventually we’re going to reach the point that there has to be someone seen as being in authority, and enforcing norms or rules. If we get too many people here, even without a bunch of bad apples slipping in, there’s bound to be conflict and dissent and people who simply don’t get along… or maybe even belong."

Sam drummed her fingers on her notebook, then ran them through Rebecca’s hair and tucked it behind her ear. It gave Rebecca a little tingling shiver, and she squirmed a little and hugged Sam’s other arm around her tighter while Sam spoke. "That might be a good point. Oh god, are we going to have to rebuild governing systems from the ground up too? Talk about next-level adulting."

"Seriously. I’m suddenly finding myself glad Amira is around. Some stuff I’m happy to leave to someone else. I just help fix and build and grow stuff when I can… shoot badguys if I have to… and cuddle with my girlfriend when it’s cold."

Sam chuckled, holding onto Rebecca with one arm and gazing into the glowing coals and small flames in the barrel stove. "As much as there is that we don’t have anymore, I have to admit, sometimes the simplicity is nice. When it’s not boring, anyway."

"Hey, at least you can, like, build or design something to stay busy. After taking apart and putting back together all my gear so many times, all ll I have is reading, or knitting, and not very well at that."

"You read perfectly well, aren’t you a soft science major?" Rebecca whacked Sam’s arm lightly. "Okay, sorry. I mean, I could try to teach you some of this stuff, beyond the basics, but there’s a lot of pretty tedious grind to learn before you can actually start using it creatively."

"Let’s be honest, I’d probably just cross a wire and blow something up again."

Rebecca felt Sam shrug. "Well, we could channel that towards the right outlets." Then, after a moment, Sam let out a long, drawn out sigh.

Rebecca looked up again with a slight frown. "Hey… what’s wrong?"

"Blah. I was thinking about the idea of checking on our families once we have extra gas again."

Rebecca remembered what Sam had told her about the weekend everything went to shit, how her father came home sick while she was back from school for Thanksgiving, how her mother had refused to let Sam come close to them and made her flee to a friend’s house. Rebecca reached up to hold the hand Sam had around her and squeezed it gently, a physical reminder she was there.

"I don’t… I can’t imagine what it might be like walking up the front steps and opening the door again. Like… I want them to be there, but then if they are, but aren’t, if you know what I mean… god. But… part of me just won’t stop hoping, you know?" Sam sniffed forcefully. "Fucking Schrödinger’s apocalypse. But I have to know. I don’t do quantum shit."

Rebecca sighed sympathetically and squeezed Sam’s hand tighter. "You won’t be alone. Ronnie would probably do it, or I would." She meant going into the house first, seeing what was there. "It’s the least I could do."

Sam let out a short, choked laugh and leaned over Rebecca, wrapping her other arm around her too. "No it’s not, you dummy." She sniffed again, before burying her face in Rebecca’s hair, which muffled the rest of her words a little. "It’s far from the least."

Rebecca felt several of Sam’s warm breaths on her scalp and was glad she’d managed to wash her hair two days ago, when the afternoon had been a little warmer. Brushing it out by the fire afterwards, wrapped in two blankets, was worth it now. Hopefully it still smelled vaguely like one of the several bottles of scavenged "old-world" shampoo Cat had brought them for Christmas, not just wood smoke. She reached up with one arm to return Sam’s embrace, at least managing to get it around the back of her shoulder, and attempted to caress Sam reassuringly. "I’d do anything I could for you, Rosie."

Sam tightened her grip briefly. "Stop it, you’re going to make me get snot in your hair."

"Okay, okay. I’m sorry." She patted Sam’s shoulder. "See? I’m apologizing excessively again. Everything’s back to how it should be." Sam’s laugh was a little closer to normal, and her grip was relaxing gradually. When Sam let her go entirely, Rebecca sat up and pivoted to face her.

Sam wiped an eye and patted Rebecca’s knee gratefully. "I know you would. I know." She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I’m okay."

"Okay." Rebecca caressed Sam’s hand where it rested on her knee. "I know it’s probably still chilly out, but it might be a little better… you wanna take Rufus for another stroll? Get some air?"

**

The change of scenery seemed to do Sam some good. After a wide loop that included contemplatively peeking into the other large building mirroring theirs, the women moseyed past the rooftop solar panels. They debated while they walked about if a hypothetical generator should go near the panels for easy wiring and security, or somewhere on the ground floor, which meant easier refueling and possibly better fire safety. Around when they reached the interior room the community had come to use as a dark, cool food storage area, they agreed it probably would just come down to size.

Sam picked up and held flashlight for Rebecca, who poked through their dwindling stock of produce, unwrapping a couple of apples from the paper that helped preserve them. She made a face at the first, which was starting to go bad — straight to the compost that would go. Fortunately, the next was a little soft but still edible, so she slipped it in her coat pocket to split with Sam during the rest of the day. Turning to face the shelf behind her, she inspected one of the larger winter gourds they had left — having agreed to help Allie prep a large dinner for many of the residents and their guests.

Since they’d basically eaten their way through their stores in the order things would go bad, the potatoes, acorn squashes and pumpkins were long gone. They had a smattering of butternuts left, along with some ugly blue-grey lumpy onion-shaped squashes Allie had introduced to her as "Hubbards". Rebecca carefully rolled several of them around on the chicken wire mesh shelves to check for softening or spotting, but they didn’t see any worse off than last week. They had back stocks of canned and packaged foods, but had always tried to dip into those only if they had to, getting by on replenishables whenever they could.

"What’s on the menu tonight?" Sam stooped to see more of the shelf Rebecca was pawing about in.

"I’m not sure what else she had in mind, but Allie wanted me to open a couple of these up so she can make them into a soup. Think we can spare the power to use a blender later? Otherwise we’re all in for quite the workout…" Rebecca didn’t look forward to smashing and stirring enough squash into soup to feed for over a dozen people. She rolled two of the larger fugly blob squashes to the edge of the shelf and scooped them up in each arm like a pair of footballs.

Sam held the door for her and she shut off the flashlight and hung it on the doorknob, patting her leg to signal Rufus to stand and follow them. "Well, I caught a whiff of SOMEthing deliciously carb-y earlier, so I think we might be in for some bread or naan-equivalent to go with it." 

"Oh god, please, you’re going to have me thinking about that all day, even if the smell doesn’t."

They bantered lightly on the way back to the apartment, and Rebecca set the squashes down in the kitchen with a relieved sigh. As Rebecca turned to open the curtain for more light, Sam perched on a stool across the counter from her. "Do you want help?"

Rebecca turned back to face her and the counter again, pulling the apple from her pocket and passing it to Sam with a small cutting board and paring knife. "Cut that up for us, and feed me once my hands get gross? This is going to be a gore-fest."

Sam smirked and briefly stepped around to Rebecca’s side of the counter to wash the apple and her hands in the sink, pausing to kiss Rebecca on the cheek where she waited to do the same. "Mm, my messy, messy chef."

"Eh. I don’t know if I’d go that far. I’d rather stick to baking. That I have a decent handle on."

While Rebecca dried her hands, Sam sat across the counter again and tapped her chin thoughtfully before picking up the paring knife with a little twirl that made Rebecca just ever so slightly nervous about a fumble and a nick. "That’s true. You do look pretty adorable when you get flour on your nose and in your hair."

Rebecca rolled her eyes before pulling out one of the chef knives in a block nearby. It was way more expensive than anything she’d had in her college years, but she’d figured that if she was going to feel guilty about just taking things from a store, she might as well do it right. She dug out a sizable pot from the cupboard, along with one of their Pyrex bowls, setting them on either side of the cutting board. She took the one piece of apple she’d probably pick up herself, and dragged the plastic tub they used for compostables over to sit on the floor next to her feet. 

Sam made quick work breaking down the rest of the apple and looked at her expectantly, waiting for further instructions, but… Rebecca shook her head at her. "Don’t worry, this is going to be messy, but not too hard… and I don’t know that another pair of hands will really do much."

"Okay, if you’re sure." Sam left the chair to grab her notebook and calculator again, also collecting her phone from a solar charger in the window. Rebecca saw her hesitate when her hand rested on the headphones next to it."It’s okay if you want to zone in." Rebecca grinned when Sam looked at her sheepishly. "I’ll still be here, and it’s not like narrating vivisecting these would be thrilling conversation. If you’ve gotta crunch some numbers or sketch out some plans for technowizardry, don’t let me stop you."

Sam gave her a little adoringly grateful half smile. "Thank you babe." Often they’d leave music playing on a phone’s speakers, but she’d always been able to focus much better with it being piped directly into her head. Something about hearing the different layers of music interplaying in both her ears, sometimes back and forth, helped her concentrate and come up with new ideas.

Rebecca set into trying to remove the dusty coating of olive oil they’d brushed the squashes with to extend their shelf life. Cold water and just a drop of dish soap was making slow progress, so she eventually used a glass measuring cup to scoop hot water from the fire pot, and dribble it over the surface of the squashes before scrubbing and rinsing them again.

By the time she’d finished that and first started levering the knife into the gourds, Sam was humming along and occasionally singing a few lines under her breath without really thinking about it, the scratching of her pen on the notebook pausing now and then as she twirled it in thought. ("…starts in my nose and goes to my toes, da-da-da da mm-mm-mm…") 

Rebecca smiled and found Sam’s intermittent a cappella karaoke a perfectly pleasant soundtrack — sometimes she liked Sam’s covers of tunes better than the originals. (Sam made the same claim, and they both thought the other was nuts for it. Sometimes, Rufus had to put up with their attempts at drunken duets.)

Once she’d gotten the squashes open, she dug as much of the gooey threads and seeds out as she could with a metal spoon, scooping them into the bowl. She wasn’t looking forward to picking all of the seeds out by hand for future use, whether roasting or re-planting, but they couldn’t afford casual waste. Maybe she’d be doing this again in several months from something grown from those very seeds?

Before she got her hands all slimed up with that, she focused on skinning and dicing the two squashes ("…sew on patches to all your tears… da-da da, da-da da…") while she could still handle a knife safely, dropping the rinds into the compost at her side, and piling the edible hunks loosely in the pot. Along the way, she periodically caught Sam’s eye and carefully plucked a slice of the apple from Sam’s fingers with her teeth when it was held up for her. She blew Sam a kiss after the second one, which got her a wink and tongue-click in reply.

Rebecca sighed when she’d finished the tidy part, setting the knife aside and reluctantly picking up the first handful of squash guts, giving it a disdainful little shake to separate it from the rest of the mass. Sam looked up and shook her head slightly with an affectionate smirk before poking at her calculator again. If it hadn’t been for the notebook, calculator, and phone all in the line of fire, Rebecca probably would have flicked some of the mess across at her.

It took about twenty minutes to get all of the seeds separated and piled on one side of the cutting board, and the gooey remnants shaken and rubbed off of her hands into the compost. The experience had been mildly reminiscent of when her uncle taught her how to "clean" a fish. Less squicky, but Rebecca still held up her hands and looked at them with mild revulsion, greenish-orange strands and film still clinging to them. Sam held her pen up defensively, point towards Rebecca, eyebrow arched, when she’d wiggled her fingers menacingly in her direction. Rebecca laughed, and took the empty glass bowl to the sink.

Without power for a drain grinder, and the limited amount of water their partial occupancy put through the building drainpipes, Leonard had precautioned them to be extremely careful about the amount of solid (or semi-solid) matter they put down the sinks. Rebecca washed her hands over a wire mesh strainer, digging her nails under each other and allowing herself another drop or two of the citrusy soap to get the last of the gunk off. When she whacked the inverted strainer on the rim of the compost bin and was finally finished with her messy task, she let out a relieved sigh and walked around the counter to sit on a stool next to Sam, where she rested her head on the other woman’s shoulder with a weary thump.

"Hopefully Allie can make all that into something better tasting than I could." Rebecca and Sam were still struggling with hitting the right combinations of cooking time and temperature with a hand-stoked fire, and their latest attempt to roast one of these squashes had managed to turn out both under and overcooked.

Sam pulled one earbud out and Rebecca could hear the faint music beyond the gentle chastising that followed. "Cut yourself a little slack, Remy. Your pumpkin bread, and the pie you made for Christmas turned out pretty good." Leonard and Allison’s drum stove was an "upgraded model" incorporating a hollow pocket with a removable door for baking, and another couple had made themselves a decent approximation of a wood-fired pizza oven, both which she’d had occasional successes with.

Rebecca lifted her head and sighed. "Yeah, okay, but that was a month ago. And… deer fat instead of Crisco or butter? Eeew. I may never be able to make a proper crust again."

"Hon… after the year and change we’d all had? You could have just handed me a bowl full of that filling and I would have eaten it with a spoon. It was like spiced holiday normalcy. Make it in little cups like a creme brûlée or something next time if you’re so worried about the crust."

"I appreciate the implied compliments and all, but you’re REALLY overestimating my baking skills… or the apocalypse has just really lowered your bar."

Sam squinted at Rebecca for a moment, giving her the same look she would use for noteworthy spectrum analyzer results she hadn’t quite figured out the trend behind yet… and then set her pen down and took out her other earbud. "Okay. What’s this nervous energy about? Are you stressing about making a good impression on Amira or something?"

"Heh." Rebecca took a slow breath and her gaze focused somewhere out the window across the kitchen from them. "No, I don’t think I’m wound up about her. Today just has me on a bit of an emotional roller coaster, I guess. Being able to just 'walk across the street’ to get a roll of toilet paper or a bag of flour or another blanket… having enough gas to actually drive somewhere again… freaking out about someone trying to take all of that for themselves instead of just sharing it." She didn’t bring up the possibility of searching for her mother… she really didn’t want to rub that in Sam’s face, especially not with that recent display of rare vulnerability.

Thankfully Sam didn’t seem to pick up on her silent thoughts for once, and smiled sympathetically. "I hear ya. God knows there’s enough leftovers to last what’s left of us for a while. I gotta say though, I could get behind not having to feel like a vulture picking through a probably-dead-person’s pantry every few days. Or carrying it back ourselves, never knowing if we’ll only find a little, or be carrying back our own weight in canned goods and housewares."

Rebecca chuckled. "I admit, some trips, I haven’t been sure which one of those I’m hoping for."

"See, that’s even more consistency we might get back. Plus, isn’t being on an emotional roller coaster kinda the new normal? This is just the next loop around the track. I’m just glad you’re here in the seat next to me."

The edges of Rebecca’s mouth turned down in the same face someone might make at a fuzzy kitten or a sleeping puppy with its tongue hanging out. "Meep. Okay. You win."

Sam turned to lean over and hooked her arms around Rebecca’s neck, fluttering her eyelashes coyly. "Yes, yes I do, and I like my prize. But, let’s get that pot over to Allie, if she truly is baking, and I can swipe something mere minutes out of the oven… I just can’t pass that up."

**

Allison was indeed baking something, the deliciously homey smell was wafting into the hallway, where the door was already open a few inches before they knocked. After they announced themselves and opened it tentatively, Allie waved them in and gestured Rebecca towards the kitchen counter with the pot she was carrying.

"Thank you ladies! You can put pot there and I’ll get it on the fire in a bit." She was just moving another piece of lightly blackened flatbread from the improvised oven to a glass baking pan wrapped in a towel. Rebecca detoured past to Allie to give her a peck on the cheek, and Sam lingered by the fire for a moment, warming her hands.

"Say, Allie… uhm… is there anything else you need help with? That maybe we could do to earn a little nibble early?" Sam’s hopeful smile was unabashed, but still pretty cute. 

Allison laughed. "Oh, girls. So you do fret over me for reasons other than my expectant condition. Here I thought it was all just overprotectiveness. I suppose since there isn’t anyone else around to see… Leonard’s downstairs bringing up more wood for at least a few more minutes." She held the tongs still long enough for Sam to pluck the previous oblong piece of bread from the stack before putting down the new one and folding the towel flaps over. "If you want to get busy opening those cans of coconut milk for the soup, I suppose that would be productive… and maybe rolling out a few more balls of dough for me? I’m just about to put the last ready one in."

"Mm-hmm!" Sam nodded enthusiastically from behind the mouthful she’d just torn off before making her way to Rebecca to share… not entirely equally, though. Rebecca made sure to give Sam a teasing eyebrow arch, looking back and forth between her and the bread to let her know she’d noticed, but let it slide.

The younger ladies lingered for nearly half an hour, helping out wherever Allie could think of. Leonard had returned with an armload of mixed firewood, and gone back downstairs to the cold storage room when they heard her gasp from the other room and call for them. "Rebecca, Sam, come here, quick!"

They looked at each other in a split second of wide-eyed alarm, and the measuring cup in Rebecca’s hand hit the counter with a clatter. She barely kept a large open bag of flour from tipping over as she struggled to tug off her borrowed apron and hurried to follow Sam around the kitchen peninsula.

Sam got to Allie’s side a few steps before Rebecca. "Allie, what’s wrong, are you okay?" They both looked her over, and around her in confusion.

"No no, here, give me your hands." She reached for them and placed one each of their hands, partially overlapping, on the right side of her belly. Realization dawned on both of their faces, replacing worry. "There, feel that under your hand, Sam? Here, scoot up a little for Rebecca." Sam’s eyes widened, followed by Rebecca’s, as they felt a trio of little thumps. Sam let out a little squeal that turned into an excited giggle as she started to lift her hand away in surprise and put it back.

Rebecca simply beamed at Allie with a wide eyed, slightly open smile. "Oh goodness. How… how long has that been going on for?"

"Oh, weeks now, but only I could feel them early on, and this is the first big time it’s happened while you were around. I’m sorry I scared you. Oh, but here, watch. You can see it sometimes." She let go of their hands, which they lifted away as she smoothed her light sweater so it lay taut across several inches. Rebecca glanced up at her after a few moments and then back down again, just in time to see a little blip in the surface… and then a whole palm-sized area just… shifted.

"Whoa." Rebecca was mildly taken aback and blinked with surprise, but Sam… Sam actually recoiled and backed up a step with an alarmed expression.

"Gah… what the hell… " She looked up at Allie sheepishly after a second. "I’m sorry, Allie. I just… that’s a little unnerving!"

Allie smiled at her beatifically. "It’s alright, dear. You’re not wrong, just imagine how it feels! I’m very proud of myself for not punching Leonard when he made a comment about an alien parasite." Sam looked chagrined as she gingerly stepped forward again to rest her fingertips against the slight asymmetrical bulge, but the baby seemed to have resettled in its new position, and Allie sighed. "Well, I guess the excitement’s over for now. I apologize for the heart attacks."

Rebecca let out the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding for a few seconds. "Whew. That’s awesome, but yeah, you scared the shit out of me, Allie." Sam nodded next to her and sighed, slipping a hand into the crook of Rebecca’s elbow.

"Girls, I appreciate your concern. But, with all the good people like you in our little village, I… we, are well taken care of. Thank you again for this morning, Rebecca. But! We have work to do and people to feed. So enough fretting over me. And, no, Samantha, you can not have another piece of bread to soothe your jangled nerves. You’ll be fine."

Rebecca allowed herself a grin at Sam’s expense. "You can’t blame a girl for hoping though, right Allie?" Sam grumbled quietly and Rebecca kissed the side of her head. "Like you would have complained if she offered you one."

**

Dinner that evening was a crowded but convivial affair. They tried to have at least one person from every family attend given the wide ranging impact of the news. Some of the single parents had already paired off in (at least initially) platonic family teams, while surviving couples — whether marital, siblings, or their handful of parent, child, and grandparent families — readily welcomed partial orphans into their homes when their parents were at work within the community… or attending events like this.

That meant almost twenty people crammed into Leonard and Allison’s two bedroom apartment. Things started social - small talk, introductions, Amira making her way around the dining room, living room, and second "bedroom" that was functioning as overflow gathering space until its impending transformation into a nursery.

Sam and Rebecca perched on the kitchen counter, a shared plate between them, clutching mugs, stirring and sipping the lightly spiced, subtly sweet Southeast Asian inspired soup Allie had concocted. Occasionally one would tap their foot or bump an elbow against the other’s in affectionate greeting. Pat and Chris had settled on stools across the bar from the girls, and Doug rested his elbows against the end of it, and it was nice catching up with them when not talking with other passing residents.

Rebecca soon realized Amira had been gathering intel, reading the room, as she circulated and chatted with everyone there. That or telepathy were the only explanations she could come up with for how Amira seemed to target her sales pitch after dinner, highlighting benefits Rebecca (and Amira now, apparently…) knew would appeal to large percentages of the group, and getting in front of concerns before they were raised.

After the day’s unintentional focus on Allison and her child, Rebecca found her mind weighed by the challenge of providing heavy security with kids living practically full time in such proximity. She found herself worrying about stray rounds from a firefight, or even passive dangers posed by the security measures themselves… mines, heavy vehicles with limited visibility, barbed wire.

Amira had picked up on this from parents in the room too, and drew parallels between the Garden settlement and embassy protection needs — families onsite, urban environments, high profile locations that needed to be fortified without taking on a belligerent appearance. But also, large buildings with commanding views, open space around them… and in a twist Rebecca hadn’t known about, Amira revealed Ronnie’s career had included three years in the Marine Security Guard detachment at the Cairo US embassy.

That must have fallen between all the stories about training and early years Ronnie told her, especially in the first months of mentoring her, and the later decade-plus, when Ronnie was in Afghanistan. Maybe the embassy years had been pretty boring? That would be a good thing, right? Still, Rebecca longed to ask her if there had been any cool sightseeing and exploring. Pyramids, Nile crocodiles, the like. She’d have to bring it up the next time they were pacing the roof on watch together.

By the end of the evening, it occurred to Rebecca that it didn’t feel like Amira had "convinced" them to join Captain Tierman’s plan. Instead, it seemed she had spent the prior hours pointing out to the individuals and group all the ways they wanted it already, but just didn’t realize it. 

She remarked as much to her little cluster of friends as they tag teamed dish cleanup. 

Pat chuckled as he brought another tray full to her at the sink. "But that’s the best way to do it, right? Don’t obsess with the features, the bells and whistles, figure out what benefits are most important to the customer and try to find a solution that delivers that to them, right?"

Christine laughed at him from where she dried dishes alongside Sam. "You work at an Apple store for two years, and here you are. But Becca, if it makes you feel better, from what Doug was telling me Captain Tierman ran the same game on Amira to get her onboard."

Becca, huh? Had she been hanging out with Sebastien, or just coming up with it on her own? "The Army captain out-diplomating the politician. What’s this world coming to? Oh, riiiiiight." She sighed and reached for another dish to wash.

**

Consensus had officially been reached by the end of the day after next — enough time for Amira, Ronnie, and "Lance" Epstein to meet with a few of the people who didn’t attend the first gathering, and for residents to discuss matters amongst themselves. It was another day before a patrol of two Humvees diverted to escort Epstein and Amira to Tierman’s HQ, a county airport bordering the main rail line through town and a large farm close in to the city, protected from urban development by its status as a federal historical monument. Apparently it was less than a mile away from the secured fuel depot, the area between patrolled as heavily as they could manage. The John Deere dealer across the highway from it didn’t hurt their equipment efforts.

It was another four days for the first construction and security team to arrive. Sam and Rebecca were on watch that afternoon, two of four people keeping an eye on the surrounding neighborhood from their sheltered rooftop. Sam had substituted a surplus M4 for her pistol caliber, fast firing SMG that was really best suited for close quarters. It newer than Rebecca’s old workhorse, saddled with a conical sight that resembled a stubby scope with a diagonal fibre optic strip over the top. It lacked the flexibility of Rebecca’s holosights, but the markings inside illuminated entirely with the fibre optic light catcher on top, or interior phosphorescence charged up by the same, never requiring batteries. Rebecca carried Felicia, her customized marks(wo)man rifle liberated from Black Tusk the prior year.

They watched with interest as the grumble of diesels echoed through the silent city blocks, announcing the arrival of the convoy presaged by light radio traffic. There were only a handful of Humvees at either end of the convoy, but several large trucks — mostly civilian box trucks, maybe for fuel consumption reasons, but several burly military cargo transporters made their way into the compound too. Some were relatively conventional-looking 6-wheelers, but standing out from those were two large eight-wheeled beasts bearing cubical steel shipping containers — like small versions of those Rebecca expected to see on cargo ships. Those were followed by a pair of civilian flatbeds loaded with white concrete highway "K-rails" or "Jersey Barriers", and a small fuel truck with labels and hoses for both gas and diesel, like you might see at a big construction yard or a small airfield (probably the latter, considering).

Both girls noticed the other’s attention lingering on that last one as it turned down the ramp. Sam quirked her eyebrow at Rebecca, who replied with a pensive nod, before spotting and pointing out Rhonda and Leonard walking out to meet with a cluster of dismounted soldiers.

Before they’d even finished their conversation, she saw Ronnie gesture in a few different directions, and was surprised by how fast their loaned telescopic forklift unloaded the eight-wheelers. The operator looped around their planting beds and storage sheds by going the long way around the buildings, but started plunking down a container every few minutes. Rebecca realized from the placement it seemed someone had a plan to use the containers for both storage and a large portion of a wall across the north end of the space between the large twin buildings. Inside of half an hour, all four cubes had been offloaded and the two eight wheelers were leaving with a two-Humvee escort. (They would return with another load and the same escort two hours later.)

The lift operator didn’t waste any time, and they watched him trundle over to the flatbeds. Unloading and positioning the K-rails was a slower process, but after the first few were placed, Rebecca saw what they had in mind. The barriers were starting to form a second ring inside of the cyclone fence, at the bottom of the slope from street level. After pondering for a moment, she realized it was an interesting approach. The cyclone fence kept pedestrian threats at bay, while the clearly visible concrete barriers would stop any vehicle that tried to burst through the fence and down the hill. If someone tried to snip there way through the fence, the concrete wall segments were low enough they’d be exposed to rooftop defenders… a prospect Rebecca realized was going to be really unpleasant when she saw another small team bringing coils of razor wire towards them.

"Jesus. Is that a mortar?" Sam’s voice drew Rebecca’s attention to the main cluster of trucks again.

"I think it’s two." She’d already seen a team of soldiers with longer rifles and binoculars setting up on the rooftop opposite to them (and waved, unsure if they could see her through the netting blind)… so she assumed the half dozen they saw shouldering a pair of deceivingly simple-looking tubes and separate large bipods were headed up there too. She thought it would make more sense to put one on each building, but… maybe they were making a point of respecting their space. "I wonder if they packed a 'Don’t fuck with us, no really we mean it' banner too."

"It would string up nicely between the two buildings, wouldn’t it." Sam sighed, her feelings on all of these abrupt changes quite mixed.

Rebecca picked up on some of it, and slid her hand into Sam’s. "If Ronnie’s involved… she’ll make sure they do right by us, Rosie."

She heard Sam transition her carbine to a sling carry, and felt when she sidled closer to lean against her shoulder. "I know. It’s like you were saying earlier though, about an emotional roller coaster." Rebecca squeezed her hand and turned to look down, rubbing her cheek in Sam’s hair while she finished. "The gas truck… it has me thinking though."

"About, y’know…?"

Sam sounded uncharacteristically tentative. "Yeah. What if we start small? Your apartment wasn’t too far, right? Maybe we start there, see if any of your stuff is still around? I mean… if you’d be okay."

Rebecca appreciated her concern, but saw her logic, and the trepidation behind it. Sure, there might be reminders of times with Jaime there… but it wasn’t nearly as huge of an emotional leap as going to Sam’s childhood home, or driving into the hills to look for her own mom at her uncle’s cabin. She replied gently, trying to assure her. "Yeah, I’m game. We can talk to Ronnie about it after things settle down a bit, huh? Find out what the deal is with gas." She buried her face in Sam’s hair at her shoulder and kissed her head. "I love you. We’ll do whatever comes along together."

Sam rubbed her cheek against Rebecca’s shoulder and looked up at her. "Oh, Remy. Stop making me want to kiss you when we’re supposed to be on lookout duty."

"Okay, sorry. Rain check?"

"Mmm. Definitely." Sam closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and straightened up again. "Thank you. For, you know. And here you worried about if I got enough."

Rebecca raised her eyebrows. "Uh, hello, phrasing!"

Some of Sam’s feistiness started to resurface with a twinkle in her eyes as she winked at Rebecca and started to stroll around the roof again with a little extra swish to her steps. Rebecca spared another glance at the other roof, wondering just how much they could see from over there, shrugged to herself, and followed.

**

"Ronnie… I don’t want to put you on the spot as a friend, so I am honestly just asking. I don’t want to seem like I’m looking for special treatment. And, I also really want your opinion on if it’s safe to go. You can say we can’t spare the fuel, you can tell me it’s a bad idea, I won’t take it personally."

By the time Sam and Rebecca rotated off with the next lookouts, dusk was settling in. The flurry of activity was tapering off with the light — Rebecca saw most of the soldiers pulling backpacks and other personal gear from vehicles. Over a dozen "Hesco bastion" basket barricades stood ready to be filled, completing the line of fortifications between the shipping containers and reinforcing the main gate. Their little backhoe was going to be busy, unless a later convoy brought another earthmover. 

Rhonda had waved her into the RV when she brought it up, and sat with her at its small dining table. There was barely enough room to spread out a slightly crinkled AAA map of the region, and unroll a wide-format printout of local satellite imagery on top of it — they had to lift one to view the other, alternating between them.

"I know, kiddo, I know. Show me where we’re talking about again? I know you said you were south of the university before."

"Yeah. It’s easily within the EV-only range of my car, if we can go there and back in a straight line. But… damn. Allie said it stalled a couple times when Leonard last used it." Her expression fell as she remembered the last detail.

"The gas in it is probably too old. Even if they put a stabilizer in it while you were with us at Broadway, I’d bet it has water in it now. You might be able to find some additives that’d help, but definitely have Epstein look at it."

Rebecca sighed, and nodded. Her SUV had been really useful, letting them make a few important short trips without worrying about dipping into the fuel they had left… but apparently that was a double edged sword.

"Don’t worry, he can probably drain the fuel for you. I’d rather have you riding around in something with armor anyway for this, maybe Chris and Pat’s Humvee since our beast is so fuel-hungry." She meant their commandeered Black Tusk armored truck, the Oshkosh M-ATV that had mostly just served as a portable machine gun emplacement the last few months. "Show me where your place is, though." Ronnie gestured towards the maps again.

Rebecca studied the road map for a moment, oriented herself by locating the campus, and then retracing her daily commute with a fingertip, tapping her destination. "Here, about two miles southwest of it. There’s a neighborhood of apartments nestled in that trapezoid formed by the three parkways."

"Hmm." Ronnie rolled the satellite imagery out over the top of the street map again, and Rebecca repeated the process. Sadly, it didn’t have the handy labels like Google used to. 

Ronnie drummed her fingers on the table thoughtfully as one hand held down the end of the map that Rebecca didn’t have pinned under her elbow. Rebecca glanced up at her, then back down at the map, guessing Ronnie was looking at an area circled in red maybe a half mile from the edge of her neighborhood.

"What is that, Ronnie?"

Just as Rebecca had done a moment prior, Ronnie looked up, then returned her eyes to the table. "What it is, is a mess. It was a National Guard recruiting center and armory. Not as big as the ones farther north or south, but still. I wouldn’t be surprised if most of our friends’ motor pool was from there originally, before so much of it got deployed and eventually scrounged back together. Fair bet it got emptied out when everything went to shit, and that Tierman and Fairbanks have been back through it again… but I wonder when the last time they did a recon pass was."

Rebecca turned her head to match the angle of one expressway. "Huh. Yeah, you know, now that you mention it I remembering seeing trucks and stuff from the highway back when."

"This long open area…" Ronnie ran her finger along a linear swath of clearcut open space that ran through Rebecca’s old neighborhood, and those north and south of it. "Do you remember if those are power lines?"

Rebecca righted her head. "Yeah. I specifically avoided taking an apartment in that last building that is so close to them, even though it was another hundred bucks a month."

"Hmm. So if roads are fucked in the area, but you’re in an all-terrain vehicle…"

"We make our own road? That tract crosses the highway maybe a half mile north, the expressways right there, and then this a back road about a mile south." She traced her finger along the long rectangle, back and forth. "And, I bet some of these side streets leading away from campus here dead end into it, right behind Professor Row."

"Yeah. Odds are there’s something of a service road along most of it too. Even if you get where you’re going on pavement, it’s a good exfil option if you run into trouble. So… we’ve got somewhere you want to poke around, near somewhere we ought to sneak a peek at, accessible a few different ways."

Rebecca leaned over the map again, pulling her hair back in a loose knot to get it to stop falling past her ears. "What else do you think might be left at the armory? I imagine it’s picked pretty clean."

"Yeah, probably, that close to the roads. But who knows, maybe some of those Humvee trailers are still there at least. Might be nice to get a little more cargo hauling ability. Maintenance stuff… tools would probably get looted, but I don’t think most people would bother stealing a spare tire, glow plugs, or brake pads."

"I guess. Assuming Lance Epstein didn’t already scoop everything up." Something caught Rebecca’s eye and she leaned lower to the map. "Hey, are these solar panels?" 

Rhonda squinted at the photo, near Rebecca’s fingertip. "Huh. Good eye. I know that Broadway’s weren’t from there, they got those off of a demonstrator system at the power company’s local office."

"I wonder if they’re still there? Imagine what some extra juice would do around here."

"Other than make your girl really excited? Yeah, that would be quite the score." Ronnie sighed thoughtfully as she leaned back, arms crossed. "Tell you what. Give me two days for drone flyovers. Fairbanks reportedly got a few out of the same training base they got the amphibious armor from. I’ll point out the mutually beneficial interest there, I’m pretty sure he’ll agree it’s at least worth a look. Now that we can get occasional aerial recon, I don’t want you going without it."

Even with the delay, Rebecca felt a tingle of excitement. "Oh, totally. I knew you’d make sure we do it right, Ronnie."

One of Ronnie’s eyebrows lifted as she stared at the target area on the map. "If we’re lucky, they got drones with the ability to relay comms. Whether I go with your not, I’d want one overhead, but I REALLY do if I’m tied up here and not along for the ride."

"Thank you, mama bear."

Rhonda looked up at her and scoffed. "Yeah, yeah. Are you gonna tell Red about what you spotted?"

Rebecca nodded. "I’d better. Even if I have to set expectations and risk a little disappointment, if I didn’t tell her about something that exciting, she’d kill me. I mean, at least so she could have the right tools if they’re there, right?"

"Smart, kid. On that topic… what about her folks’ place? You said you were working your way up to that?"

"It’s farther, maybe five miles west of… of my old place, the other side of I-95." Apparently, as the idea of going back got more real, some emotions were getting stirred up after all. Ronnie didn’t comment but looked sympathetic.

"What about your uncle’s?" Ronnie’s tone was much more gentle, some of the corners rounded off her usual practicality.

"It’s… way out there. Towards the Rapidan wilderness. When I went up there for a long weekend, I stopped in Culpeper, and that was about halfway. It was about a 2 hour drive, back when, y’know."

"Keep me posted on how you’re doing with all this, alright cookie? I think it’s important to do, but… be gentle with yourself. Not just with Sam."

"I will, Ronnie. I promise." Rebecca paused. "Thank you again. For everything."

"Eh. It’s good to have a hobby, you know?" Rhonda reached across the table to clap her on the shoulder and rise. "We’ve got a little light left… go get your training blade, we can get some practice in."

Rebecca sighed as she rose to follow Ronnie out of the RV, to fetch the hard blue rubber knife-lookalikes Rhonda had taken to making her and Sam practice with. "Speaking of being gentle…"

**

Rhonda always worked Rebecca harder in training and sparring when she was being more protective than usual… the fact that Rebecca had gotten used to the idea didn’t leave her any less tired (or slightly bruised) by the time Ronnie was done with her.

A couple of grunts won MRE peanut butter packets or Pop Tarts from their colleagues by betting on how long she would last against Ronnie on any given round. She appreciated the guy who took the long shot and bet on her to win, but… his enthusiasm wasn’t going to make her overcome proper training and several years of experience. She gave him an apologetic shrug as she picked herself up from the mat yet again, which garnered a goodnatured laugh in return.

She quickly forgave Sam for being "busy with Rufus somewhere" when Ronnie proclaimed it was sparring time, as she’d prepared a fairly warm bath for her in the meantime. Sam tried to play it off as not wanting to deal with Rebecca being stinky, but the way she sat on the side of the tub and scrubbed Rebecca’s back was more tender than pragmatic. Rebecca felt herself starting to drift blissfully in the candle and lantern light at the sensation of Sam pouring handfuls of warm water on her exposed shoulders and let out a long slow exhale. It started to remind her though… of… oh dammit. That time Jaime had prepared a bath for her, just a couple of nights before he was killed. And that wretched anniversary was coming up soon and…

Sam felt Rebecca’s shoulders slump and saw her head droop. What the heck? Momentarily, she realized there was a tear running down Rebecca’s cheek. "Remy? Sweetheart, what’s wrong?"

Sam dropped from the side of the tub to her knees, closer to Rebecca’s level, and fished her hand from the water to hold it, keeping her other hand on Rebecca’s back. "Honey?"

Rebecca wiped a tear away with her free hand and an accidental little flick of water. "I’m sorry. It’s just… a memory coming back. Jaime used to get baths ready for me too when he wanted to cheer me up. And… when we came back from the hotel on foot, when we went to check it out together…"

She paused for a sniff, and wiped her eyes again. "He fell in the river on the way back, while we were crossing… and when I laughed, he knocked me in too. Oh, I was so mad at him at the time."

Sam fretted. "I’m sorry, honey. I was just trying to do something nice…"

Rebecca rubbed her hand. "No, it’s okay. I appreciate it, I appreciate you. It’s good to talk about it too, I guess." She sighed and let out a very slight laugh. "I was so mad. We’d stuffed our bags with fresh clothes, and it was all soaked… and then we had to crawl back through the drainage tunnel… it was dry, but once we were in there on the way back, it was like making mud every time I put my hands down. We were filthy when we made it out, and then he hugged me and rubbed his hands all over, even in my hair."

"Oh man…" Sam was enjoying the bittersweet story as much as one could, really, and she wanted to be there to listen for whatever Rebecca needed to work through.

"He had the sense to get a hot bath ready for me by the time I’d finished emptying out our bags and hanging everything up." She sighed, more nostalgically than sad this time. "And, well…"

Sam picked up on a note to her voice and grinned at her naughtily. "Aaaaaaaand?"

Rebecca chuckled. "… aaaand… one thing led to another, y’know… "

"You don’t have to be embarrassed or worry about me being jealous or something. The makeup sex was good, huh?"

Now, Rebecca laughed. "Yeah, okay, yeah. It was a pretty good." But, then some of the sadness came back. "It’ll be a year soon."

Sam wrapped her arms around Rebecca and pulled her close. "It’s okay to miss him."

"Hey, you’re gonna get your shirt all wet!"

"I don’t care!" Sam ran her hand through Rebecca’s damp hair, cradling her head against her shoulder.

"Right, right. 'Dummy'."

"You know it." Sam kissed the top of her head.

"Thank you, Sam. Really."

"Of course."

"God, I do miss him, even the ways he pissed me off. Is it wrong I don’t want to be here on the anniversary? I want to be on the road somewhere. I feel a little bad for that, like I’m not honoring him enough or something."

Sam pressed her cheek to Rebecca’s forehead and let out a humming sigh. "Everyone handles grief in their own way, dear. If it feels right for you, then as far as I’m concerned, it is, and I’ll have words for anyone who tries to criticize you. Do you think he would be bothered by it?"

"… no, not really."

"See, it doesn’t really sound like what you’ve told me about him. You remember him and miss him and love him in your own way. And, yes, I don’t mind, in fact I expect you to still love him." After a few moments, Sam ran her hand down Rebecca’s back, and back up again with a handful of water. "Let’s get you out and into comfy things before you regret staying in too long, huh? Gotta get you out while the water’s still warm."

She passed Rebecca a large towel, followed by a smaller one for her hair, and then hastily peeled off her own shirt and pulled on one of the bathrobes while Rebecca quickly dried herself and donned the other. Out front, she tossed Rebecca’s pajamas to her from their folded stack on the stove’s "stone" top, and shoved two more chunks of pine scrap into the coals, followed by a hunk of oak, to burn slower and longer into the night.

While that got burning, she lifted the lid on the pot she’d left to bubble after the last batch of hot water for the bath. A quick experimental stir told her she’d improved her timing, the (overnight rehydrated) beans were just about at the right stage for her to add a couple cups of dry rice to.

That done, she ducked into the bedroom to wiggle into a silk thermal shirt while she was still in the robe, tucked it into the sweats she was already wearing (over silk leggings), and pulled on a thin merino wool shirt. Rebecca was brushing her hair close to the fire and looked up when Sam returned.

"I almost forgot. Ronnie and I were looking at satellite photos of my old neighborhood, and it looks like an abandoned Guard armory behind it had a bunch of solar panels over the parking lot. We don’t know if they’re still there, but… it’s a pretty exciting prospect, right?"

"Well. That trip idea just got a lot more interesting. And… my days just got a lot busier. Do you think the new crew has any electricians in it?"

Rebecca shook lingering water out of the brush, apologizing to Rufus when some sprinkled on him as he moseyed over. "Dunno. Are you thinking of sharing your crown as the resident electrical sorcerer?"

"I mean, royalty needs minions, right?" Sam settled on the leather-clad footrest / bench next to Rebecca and scratched Rufus behind his ears.

"I guess. Does that make me your consort, or am I just a lowly harlot?" Rebecca flashed her a little coy smile as she switched hands and tilted her head away from Sam so the hair on the far side would dangle freely to brush.

Sam was glad Rebecca’s usual humor was resurfacing, and grinned at her in the fire and lantern light. "Oh, sugar. I’m admit your baking talents keep me hopelessly enchanted, amongst other things. Maybe you can be my secret lover amongst the kitchen staff, who ascends to the throne beside me to the shock and horror of the aristocracy."

Rebecca gestured with her brush towards the pot Sam had just been seeing to. "So, did we meet when you were skulking in the kitchen disguised as a commoner?"

"A girl’s got to have her midnight snacks, and what would the court think if they knew of my vices?" Sam had scooted closer, enough that their knees touched.

"Including me?"

"Oh, especially you." They enjoyed a tender flirtatious moment as Sam leaned in and rubbed her nose against Rebecca’s. "I’m glad you’re feeling better."

"We take good care of each other." Rebecca leaned away to pick up the small towel, and blotted at her hair with the dry side.

Sam straightened again and eyed the pot speculatively, wondering if it was time to lift the lid for another stir. It was such a balancing act, not letting things burn without the convenience of a knob to turn, and making the most of their primitive heat sources. They had a handful of propane tanks, but rationed those pretty heavily, mostly saving them for less hardy community members on the harshest nights. Maybe they could get ahold of a larger supply like Broadway had the year before. "It seems people are always better at taking care of the people around them than themselves. The decent-hearted folks, anyway."

"You know, when we met… you seemed to have such a strong, hard charging personality. I didn’t think you needed much of that. It’s only been the last few months that I’ve seen your more vulnerable side." Rebecca draped the towel over the metal case near the fire, and leaned back into Sam.

"I guess maybe that was necessity. If I stopped moving forward, if I lost momentum…"

"You might not get it back?"

"Yeah, exactly. Like, I intentionally didn’t have time to think, because who knows what kind of hole I would have fallen into. I think I admire that about you, how you pushed through the worst of it." Sam turned to touch Rebecca’s cheek with the back of her knuckles.

Rebecca leaned slightly into her hand. "I didn’t do it by myself. I had Allie and Leonard, and then Ronnie, and you, and yes, you too, Rufus!"

He’d started to nose his way into their laps, shoving his snout under hands or resting his chin on their legs. The ladies both laughed and lavished him with attention for a minute or two, enjoying the cozy warmth by the crackling fire, the smell of their imminent dinner bubbling away atop it, and a distinct unspoken sense of not being alone. Rebecca found herself quietly hoping that maybe they might find their families soon too.

**

Rain delayed Ronnie’s expectations for Fairbanks being able to allocate some drone time to their request. Valentine’s Day came and went, and though Sam was adamant it had become a marketing gimmick for Hallmark and De Beers in modern times, she conceded to a candlelit double date dinner with Christine and Patrick while Ronnie dogsat Rufus, indulging Rebecca’s wish to at least dress up a little. They opened a jar of pasta sauce they’d been saving, along with a few bottles of wine. Rebecca was still impressed by Sam’s disproportionate alcohol tolerance, as she was feeling quite the flush by the time Sam was only mildly tipsy, giggling more than usual. Pat and Chris just seemed to get friskier with each other as the bottles drew empty. All in all, it was a pleasant diversion, an excuse to shave her legs, wear one of the three dresses she owned those days, and even spend an hour doing her nails and putting on a little makeup.

The couples split off after dinner, with Rebecca and Sam going for a short walk. The chilly air was actually somewhat pleasant on Rebecca’s wine-tinted cheeks, and she asked Sam to accompany her to Jaime’s memorial. She didn’t end up crying, but there was a wistful sigh and her vision blurred as Sam coaxed her to sit on the edge of the planter area for several minutes, holding her hand in quiet support.

Encountering Nate in the hallway as they left helped return her good cheer, especially when he told them they were "the prettiest ladies he’d ever seen". Sam thanked him, and Rebecca told him he was the sweetest, bravest boy they knew. They discussed how adorable it was as they very carefully made their way back down to their apartment, where they changed back into warmer clothing to cozy up for the evening.

**

The morning brought good news. Fairbanks had gotten his drones up. The first flights prioritized local security: widening loops around Tierman’s HQ, then up to and around Broadway. The Garden settlement was too far from the airfield for a return flight, but there were plans to send a team up to fly from there within a day or two. Best of all, Rebecca’s old neighborhood was just within the small drones’ flight, loiter, and return range, and the solar panels were still there. The area looked quiet, but the UAV was operating right at the fringe of its range, and couldn’t scout a path between the armory and Garden. That would have to wait until the launch crew came to visit, and could send a drone cruising southwards.

Still, Rebecca was optimistic. At worst, maybe they could head down to the airfield, and then laterally along a path within the UAV operating radius. Ronnie was working on routes she wanted recon’ed, and what vehicles to use. That left Rebecca and Sam to figure out how to get the panels disconnected and down.

The afternoon found them up in the radio room on the fifth floor, swapping high fives with Nate on the way in and waving to his mother in the hallway. One of the other residents, an early 30’s dark haired caucasian man Rebecca knew as Carl, nodded to them. "Need to make a call, ladies?"

Rebecca smiled and nodded. "Yes please. All quiet after Ronnie’s call about the drones?"

"Yup. In that case, I think I’ll take the opportunity to stretch my legs and take a bathroom break." He rose from the chair in front of the table of radio gear and gestured towards it, before stepping around the women and exiting.

Rebecca sat in the chair, and looked up at Sam as she rested her weight against the table beside her. "I wonder what Cat and her gang are up to. I really would have thought they’d spend more time here, until it finished warming up."

"I guess once the snows stopped, they figured it was good enough weather to get on the road again. They really seem to get twitchy staying in one place."

"True enough." Rebecca fiddled with the radio briefly, checking the frequency it was set to transmit on, and then keyed up the mic. "Phoenix one, Phoenix one, copy?" She waited several moments, and tried again, after which a staticky reply came back."Hold for Phoenix one, please." An unfamiliar male voice answered, and then a few minutes later, Catherine’s voice came on.

"Queen Phoenix here. Who summons me?"

Rebecca chuckled and shook her head at Sam. "Hey your highness. You all doing okay out there?" She knew Cat would recognize her voice, and better to avoid names on the airwaves just in case. She was still erring on the side of paranoia after their run-in with a very well equipped private military company last year.

"Yup, just sifting through yet another warehouse. Looking to place an order?"

"Yeah, but… not along our usual lines. Have you seen any bucket trucks around? Like, from the phone, cable, or power companies — for working on stuff up on poles."

There was a pause, probably while Cat looked at one of her companions with a bemused or perplexed face. "Uhhh… yeah, here and there. I think I remember where we might have passed something recently. Dare I ask?"

"Welllll… probably better not to say until I see you. When you’re done there, do you think you could swing back and check on the one you saw? It could help with something really, really big, for all of us."

"Eh, alright. When and where are you hoping to get your hands on it?"

"Do you remember where we pulled that last all nighter finishing that assignment?" (She meant her old apartment. There had been a lot of pizza and caffeine involved as the two of them and another classmate ground out the last of a final project accounting for 30% of their grade. Not that the grade mattered anymore.)

"Yeah, roger that."

"Great. I can’t promise the snacks will be as good this time, but… maybe in a week? I’ll let you know exactly in a few days."

There was another short delay. "Alright, copy. Hopefully we don’t need to put too much fuel into the thing, if so, we might need you to replace it."

"Sure, I get it. We’ll do right by you." Yeah, about that. A few gallons probably wasn’t going to be a problem soon, but she shouldn’t announce that over the radio. It could just wait to be a fun surprise for Cat.

"Yeah, okay. I guess you do make a point of it. Call me."

"You got it, good hunting."

"Thanks. Phoenix out."

They hung out in the radio room for a few more minutes waiting for Carl to get back. As Rebecca set down radio mic, Sam chuckled. "You’re not going to tell her about the changes to the neighborhood?"

"I mean, security aside…" Rebecca grinned. "I think that’s a conversation better had in person. Maybe when she’s just drunk enough to be relaxed, and not enough to be hostile."

"That sounds like a thin knife to balance on. Is she gonna think we sold out to The Man?"

"Probably… but she’s a pragmatist, she’ll probably come to appreciate the benefits. Grudgingly, as the folks in her crew come around one by one."

"Hmm. It’s an odd lifestyle, they’ve chosen. I get moving to greener pastures, but… it would make more sense if resources were replenishing, like migrating tribes." Sam stood, and paced to the window and back.

"I mean, maybe the world will grow back to that point, if enough folks prod it along. At least Cat and hers are helping in their own way, not just circling like vultures."

"Yeah, fair. I appreciate that she hasn’t been circling YOU like one."

Before Rebecca could reply, they heard the sounds of someone walking in the hallway. She’d been around Ronnie enough over the last almost-year to recognize the sounds of her stride, and called out to greet her before she rounded the corner. Sam looked at her quizzically for a moment, and chuckled when Rhonda came around the corner.

"Hey girls. How’re things?"

"Hi Sarge!" Sam greeted Ronnie with her usual informality. "Remy’s found us a bucket truck. Well, maybe."

Rebecca didn’t think it was that sure of a thing yet (but she was still hoping it was). "Cat thinks she remembers seeing one earlier and is going to check for us. I guess we’ll see."

"Huh. Cool. Well, fingers crossed. I had a chat with Fairbanks earlier, and was actually coming back up to see if he’d called back…"

Rebecca shook her head tentatively. "I think Nate or Carl would have said something when we came in, and it’s been quiet since we’ve been here.’

"Okay. Well, the draft version of our plan is to take a handful of Humvees and a cargo truck down with us. If we’re winding through neighborhood streets, the behemoth might have a hard time. Plus, there’s the whole issue of balancing scaring the shit out of locals against scaring off hostiles. They’ve got one armored Humvee touting a grenade launcher, which we’re hoping will be enough along with the MG’s and small arms."

Sam piped up. "If we run into trouble, how fast can help get to us?"

"They’re going to scale back other excursions while we’re out, so they should be able to have a decent sized Quick Reaction Force to us inside of fifteen minutes. It’ll probably be smaller than our original group, but should be enough to help us disengage."

Rebecca eyed a map tacked up on the wall above the radios. "Will the roads slow them down? Still no aircraft, huh?"

"No helos yet, and no jet fuel to put in their turbines if we had them either. The highway north from the CP should be pretty clear with all of the patrols they’ve been running, before heading west on the same local four-lane. So, they should be able to follow the path we clear. Or, if that goes to shit, even go overland through a few fields and yards."

"I guess the one upside of the beast is being able to push things out of the way. Will the Humvees have enough muscle for that?"

Rhonda shrugged. "Maybe not as dramatically, but they’ll move a car at a time, no problem. If there’s a bus or semi in the way, we’ll have to detour. But, we didn’t see any from the drone overflight, so really the only unknown is a handful of underpasses."

"I guess we can’t expect too much recon when we ARE the recon."

"True enough."

Sam spoke up again. "Sarge, that makes me think. About what we technically are. Has there been any talk about like, legitimizing us? What makes us any different from a ragtag bunch of leftovers wandering around looting shit? When it was just individual communities scavenging to get by, that’s one thing, but if we’re going to start commandeering stuff and flying a flag as we do it…should we, like, have a flag to fly?"

Ronnie nodded. "Amira and Tierman are talking about that, for sure. They’re still working on how to give anything they come up with some authenticity and valid authority, so we’re not just a bunch of jackasses with guns and all, but they’re thinking about it. For the time being, we’ll still just have to ask people nicely." Sam seemed temporarily mollified, she could certainly accept it wasn’t an easy thing to solve. But, she probably wouldn’t like what was coming next. "There’s another thing, though. If you’re going inside, making your way to your apartment, you’re going to be in close quarters. Tight even for the Tavor, Bex. I know you’ve practiced with my P90, and Sam, your Vector is a mean little beast at home in its natural environment in CQB. But…" She reached into a pocket and pulled out two blue plastic knife-shaped training blades. "If some crazy tackles you from behind a door, you need to be ready. Let’s go."

Rebecca looked down at her hands, nails still glittering from the night before (for the first time in ages). Sam’s were a simpler job, solid colors but pristinely applied. "Oh, come on, Ronnie. This is the first time we’ve gotten prettied up in months, and you’re going to make us ruin it so soon?"

"Oh, we’re stopping to get your gear. All of it."

**

Rhonda had started their winter course of hand-to-hand training with them in comfortable clothing - sweatpants or leggings, t-shirts or tank tops. That let them move freely, and learn a wide range of defenses and counters. In several of the recent sessions she’d been teaching them in a full combat load, and she’d been making them focus on attacks on vulnerabilities in their liberated high-tech Black Tusk armor.

Today, she abandoned the first stage, where she was always the attacker, with them learning to defend… and to their dismay, set them on each other. She urged them to use the attacks targeting each other’s necks, armpits, waists, and thighs she’d been throwing at them, driving them to better understand an attacker, and to prepare if they ever fought someone with such complete torso protection again.

Both girls were hesitant. It didn’t feel natural to be directing aggression towards each other, and they kept pulling their punches. Ronnie groaned in frustration as Rebecca immediately backed off when Sam yelped in discomfort from a wrenching parry, just like Sam herself had let up a minute before when she got inside Rebecca’s defenses.

"Dammit, girls. Stop dancing around with each other." They both looked mildly crestfallen at her chastising, but not as convinced as they needed to be. "Look. I get that you care about each other and it’s weird pretending to try to kill each other. But you’re partners, right? In more ways than one?"

Rhonda waited for them to glance at each other and nod to her. "Good. Then that covers pushing each other in training too. I know it feels unnatural to you right now, that you’re scared of hurting each other, but it’s a trust thing." She tossed a sports bottle to Rebecca, who downed a gulp and passed it to Sam. "You’re both good enough now to control your blows, but you’re doing it too much. Who else would you spar all-out with than someone you trust completely? When you’re babying each other, you are doubting the other’s ability, implying you don’t think they’re good enough to hold you off… and you’re doing them a disservice. You are teaching each other right now."

She paced in front of them, arms crossed. Partially to keep herself from slipping into old habits and yelling in their faces. They were attentive and intelligent enough they didn’t need that, she’d save it for any of the soldiers and civilian militia members milling about in the background who stopped to ogle the spectacle.

"You’re both good enough to know the other one can stand up to you. Rebecca, you have reach on Sam, but she’s faster than you, and better with her off hand. Sam, her center of gravity is higher so she’s easier to tip, but she’s got more meat on them hips and can move you around if you’re grappled. You have to trust your partner to keep themselves from getting hurt, and from really hurting you. If that fails, you both know it won’t have been intentional, and that it will be forgiven. You need to learn these hard lessons when it’s safe, with someone who wants you to defeat them as much as they want to beat you, when the only consequence is more learning." She noticed the girls had switched from watching her to looking at each other thoughtfully.

"Alright, let’s go again with a twist." Rhonda reached behind her and picked up the P90 from the table,"Cold weapon." She held up a transparent empty magazine, then kept it between her lower fingers as she pulled the slide back on the chamber, looked in it, and then tilted it to show them. Once she’d seen them both look and nod, she attached the magazine and handed it to Rebecca. "Put that on, and start from a low ready."

Then, she repeated the process with Sam’s Vector SMG. "Sam, sling it and then slide it around to your back. Bex, close your eyes and hold still."

Rebecca quirked an eyebrow in puzzlement, but obeyed, holding her position with the P90 shouldered and ready in front of her, aimed slightly downwards. She heard Ronnie moving behind her, then felt her hands rest on her ears, muffling her voice. "Now, Sam, take up position on either side, ready to attack like she was coming through an open doorway. When I say to, Bex, open your eyes and defend yourself. Loser does laundry."

That was no small penalty, hand washing things in a five-gallon bucket with a (never-used) toilet plunger through a hole in the lid as an agitator. Rebecca realized Ronnie must be waiting for Sam to pick a side, making sure she couldn’t hear her before the match, and tensed up as Ronnie’s hands lifted away. "Three, two, one, go."

Rebecca opened her eyes quickly just as she heard a crunch on her right. It took her a moment to spot Sam coming up from a crouch in the blind spot created by her gun, and she was barely able to step back in time to bring her arm down on top of Sam’s, trapping it under hers with the training knife against the inside of the gun’s stock.

She shifted her left hand from the front of the P90 to wrap her fingers over Sam’s, prying them back and fighting to pull the knife from her hand, which she managed to do just as she shifted her foot to avoid Sam’s attempt to hook her leg and trip her. However, she missed the block on a blow Sam directed at the side of her face, still not full strength, but enough to make her flinch.

Sam felt a visceral flash of satisfaction as her diversion strike worked, and snatched Rebecca’s own knife from its sheath, got a foot against Rebecca’s thigh, and pushed hard to separate them. The tug it took to get her pinned arm free was unpleasant, but the lower body strength she brought to bear was enough it was effectively ripping the bandaid off. Rebecca recovered from her stagger just as Sam did, and they faced off for a moment, holding each other’s knife, before an unspoken moment’s agreement to laugh at the trade.

A pointed throat-clearing from Ronnie started the next round. Sam moved in fast enough to keep Rebecca from getting the P90 up, dodging to Rebecca’s right again and striking the upper sight rail of the gun hard enough with her fist to knock it loose enough in Rebecca’s hand that a second shove to the same spot made her drop it to dangle on its sling. She swore when Rebecca retaliated, sliding her strong arm down the outside of Sam’s, twisting at the wrist to grab a handful of Sam’s hair, pulling painfully. 

"Ow, shit! You bitch!"

Rebecca’s move, pulling Sam back and to her side, meant that Sam’s shoulder rested against her forearm, supporting some of her weight. Sam let that ride, and kicked her heel hard at the back of Rebecca’s far knee, folding her leg, tumbling them both to the ground in a tangle. Sam’s ankle was trapped under Rebecca’s legs, but she managed to twist, pinning Rebecca’s arm between them with her torso, and get the tip of the knife in her off hand inside the neckline of Rebecca’s armor, right where a piece of flying debris had cut her last year, the night of the big Black Tusk attack.

For Rebecca’s part, just before she fell, she managed to twirl the knife in her left hand like a pen, from the reverse grip it was in after she wrenched it away from Sam, and get the blade pointing upwards in her hand. She held it to the side of Sam’s throat just as she hauled herself on top of Rebecca, but felt the tip of Sam’s blade press down against the gap between her trapezius and scalene muscles.

Sam untangled her leg from Rebecca’s and untwisted to face her more comfortably, both of them still holding the practice knives in position, and they looked into each other’s eyes for a moment, panting for breath.

Rebecca spoke first. "Sorry about your hair. Are you okay?"

Sam nodded. "Did I get your eye?"

Rebecca shook her head. "No, I’m good."

They stayed like that for a few moments, easing the grip on the blades, still looking at each other as they caught their breath.

Above, unbeknownst to them, Ronnie closed her eyes and shook her head. She knew what that would probably lead to, and it was going to involve the two of them getting a room. "Ahem. I guess we’ll call that a draw. Get up." She continued as they rose and dusted themselves (and each other…) off. "Rebecca, when she got in close the second time, you should have led with the knife, not the P90. Sam, when she pinned your hand inside and took the knife, you had a chance to disconnect her gun from the sling and get it away from her."

Sam was confused. "But you just told her not to go with the gun that close… and I was taking HER knife away."

Ronnie nodded as she paced in front of them."Yup. There’s always a bunch of different options in a fight, and I’m just pointing out the ones you didn’t take. It’s hard to think of them all, or know which ones are 'right or wrong' in the moment, not to mention outguess your opponent’s choices. That’s why I’m making you practice like this, you don’t have time to think close-in. I’m glad you were listening though, and started to actually fight. Again. Reverse roles."

The next match went much quicker. Rebecca’s elbow was moving towards Sam’s face from the left when she opened her eyes, and she ducked under it. She rose inside Rebecca’s defenses again and brought her knife tip up under Rebecca’s chin in her left hand, her dominant right hand wrapped over the pommel after letting go of the Vector. But, she felt Rebecca’s dull blade driven against her abdomen, under the bottom edge of her armor. It had bunched up her shirt around the tip and probably left an impressive bruise where it ground the fabric along her skin.

The pain drove Sam’s adrenaline in the next match though, and she won with a simulated slash across Rebecca’s femoral artery. That left Rebecca slightly off balance with a bruised thigh, but she overcame it to triumph in the last round, using her left arm to capture Sam’s right and sliding her blade home under it.

They were both pretty done after all that, and looked to Ronnie plaintively as they disengaged. She nodded and waved her hand dismissively at them. "Fine, fine. Give me the guns, go on and get yourselves cleaned up."

She muttered to herself as she watched them stagger towards the nearest building entrance. "… and each other, I bet."

**

Both women groaned as they lifted the armor cuirasses over their heads and set them down. Rebecca really hoped that they weren’t leaving the next day, based on what she’d learned about the ride comfort in the fairly spartan Humvees. She slumped against the breakfast bar between the living room (and wood stove) and the kitchen while they waited for the pot of water on it to get hot enough to bathe with.

Sam nodded when Rebecca voiced the sentiment, and gingerly lifted the hem of her black shirt. She'd guessed correctly — there was an inch wide, three inch long vertical contusion ending just to the right of her navel. She winced as she pulled her arms out of the sleeves, and the hiss of air through her teeth drew Rebecca’s attention just as Sam was peeling the shirt off over her head.

"Oh shit, Sam…ouch." Sam got her head free and eyes open just after she felt Rebecca’s hands settle on her waist, warm palm against her on one side, hesitant fingers tracing around the edges of the bruise on the other. "I got you good. I’m sorry."

She looked into Rebecca’s hazel eyes less than a foot away. "I’m pretty sure your leg looks about the same."

Rebecca’s words remained fretful. "Maybe, but I don’t think it’s as bad. It doesn’t ache as much now, and it was just a swipe. This… I got you pretty good."

Sam wasn’t… mad, but something feral still had her blood up. She felt another primal surge as she felt Rebecca’s breath against her face. She let her eyes linger, lifted an eyebrow, and whispered as enticingly as she could manage. "Make it up to me."

Rebecca grinned lopsidedly and chuckled as she stepped in close. "You ask so much." She kissed her softly at first, but as Sam clutched handfuls of Rebecca’s shirt in twisting fists and pulled her tight, she got the message and seemed to agree. Sam’s grunt as Rebecca pressed her against the wall quickly changed to a soft moan into her lips, and their kissing grew more urgent. They’d been intimate the night before, but they’d been tender, romantic. This was… hungrier. They were both sweaty, a little smelly beneath their deodorants and the lingering scents of perfume and lotion from the night before. Sore and tired. But somehow that just added to the moment, like the exercise and competitiveness had stirred up more than one kind of appetite to be sated in its wake.

Sam pushed Rebecca back away from the wall and tugged her towards the couch, pivoting to guide her into it then sit on her lap as they ran their hands over each other, through their hair, kissing and necking with trace hints of the same aggression from a half hour before. She could already tell she would have at least one of a sweeter, more enjoyable kind of bruise where Rebecca laid into her neck, and was determined to leave a few marks of her own before they were done. If they were going to be seeing Cat soon, she might as well mark her territory. She seemed to respond well to shows of strength, respecting Sam’s claim on Rebecca more when she made a show of it. So be it. The thought of a perceived competitor Sam felt mildly threatened by blew a fresh heat into her smoldering lust, and her hands quested for the bottom edge of Rebecca’s sweat-dampened shirt.

By the time they’d both run out of steam, resting their heads against the back of the couch with a shared blanket loosely around them, the water pot was boiling and clattering its lid energetically. How metaphorical, Sam thought.

**

They’d mixed the hot water into a larger bucket to balance the temperature, and then ladled that over themselves in the bathtub with washcloths to get clean. Sam lounged on the couch again, eyes closed with a slight smile on her face, while Rebecca worked with the handful of eggs Leonard had brought by that morning, combining them in a pan with the rice they’d set boiling in another pot when they took the bath water off the fire.

She’d never do Mr. Tse’s legacy justice, in fact he might cringe at the Sriracha she was using. But, they could use the complete protein after the workout(s), and Allie’s pressure-canned carrots and the commercially canned peas weren’t just for flavor and texture. They’d probably run out of vitamin supplements some day, so if they could avoid going blind and getting scurvy during the winter without using them constantly, so much the better.

Sam’s stomach growled as Rebecca put the refilled water pot back on the fire, then brought dishfuls for both of them over to the couch. "Oh god, yes, bring me replacement calories."

Rebecca chuckled as she settled next to Sam again, letting their knees rest against each other. "Good thing we had all that pasta last night, before all the exercise, right?"

Sam looked up from blowing impatiently on a spoonful. "You know the way to my heart is through carbs. Between last night and today, this is probably going to be the best we’ve eaten in weeks. I guess it’s been a good twenty-four hours." With that, she shoved a large mouthful in and closed her eyes again in contentment as she chewed.

"I’d like to think there’ve been some other nice things too." Sam half-choked at the innuendo and frowned at her timing disapprovingly, downing a swig of water from a steel bottle.

The rest of the meal passed uneventfully — simple fare, but warm and filling, leaving them in a pleasant haze of food coma, afterglow, and quiet conversation until Christine rapped on the door and announced herself, using an extra key they’d given her to enter at their invitation. Rufus followed on a slack leash, returning from his time spent visiting with her and Patrick.

"Hi friends! Oh, it smells good in here. What was for dinner?" The cheerful curly-haired blonde unclipped the leash from Rufus and coiled it on the counter, perching halfway onto one of the bar stools.

"Apocalypse fried rice," Rebecca replied.

"Sounds spicy! Oh, hmm… appropriately so, I see. I was going to wish you a good night but it seems you’ve already been having one." Rebecca was puzzled until she saw Sam tilt her head to emphasize the small red mark standing out from the sparse freckles at the base of her throat. Sam quirked an eyebrow suggestively, then glanced pointedly down at Rebecca’s neck.

Rebecca self-consciously put her hand up, and sure enough, there was a slightly tender spot just below her ear that she didn’t specifically remember getting. Sam nodded at her with a wry grin as she discovered it, and Rebecca huffed. "Oh, you minx! At least I did it where you could cover it with a turtleneck or scarf." 

Then, remembering Christine, she glanced over at the blonde and could feel herself blush. Hopefully it wouldn’t be visible in the dim fire and lamp light.

She laughed at them. "Oh, don’t worry, Bec. I’m hardly one to judge, you of all people know full well what kind of trouble Patrick and I can get ourselves into!" Rebecca assumed she was referring to the time she and Patrick had been captured by Black Tusk when they’d attempted to abscond to a small hidden safe room for a little privacy. 

Chrissie toyed with the collar of her sweater with an impishly reminiscing expression as she continued. "Truth be told, things got a little spicy for us too last night. A nice dinner with friends and a roll in the metaphorical hay, pretty good for a Valentine’s Day given the times, wouldn’t you say? Oh, I rhymed." She giggled briefly, which helped ease Rebecca’s mortification.

Less embarrassed, Rebecca smiled. "Yeah, twice. You’re right though, dinner was fun, we enjoyed the company. Maybe board games next time, but with less wine."

Sam raised a hand up to her chest in a gesture of feigned offense. "Hey. Just because you know I have an advantage when it comes to alcohol tolerance and will totally sink your battleship…"

Rebecca shook her head and held up a finger. "Okay, no. Wait a minute. Your freakish record in Battleship, card games, and anything involving math and predictable probability has nothing to do with alcohol."

Sam held her palms up in an open shrug. "Hey. You’re the psych major. You should be able to out-fox me on anything with a human strategic element, regardless of what the odds are."

Christine laughed at the spectacle again. "Oh, girls. I can see this is my cue. GOOD NIGHT, you two. Goodnight, Rufus. Thank you for letting us borrow your handsome boy, Rebecca."

Both women wished Chrissie a pleasant evening, and carried their dinnerware into the kitchen. After allowing Rufus a perfunctory lick or two, they washed and dried the dishes and cookware (again, with ladles of hot water from the stove), continuing their mostly-playful argument and banter. It lasted well into bedtime, when they snuggled down into the covers. Rebecca spooned up behind Sam, who nestled back against her and sighed contentedly, snoring softly inside of five minutes.

**

Ronnie told them in the morning that they’d probably head out the following day. She allowed Rebecca a short respite to relay the news to Cat, but after that, started driving them through exercises again. In a concession to their fatigue and soreness, she forewent the melee training and focused on room-clearing movement with unloaded firearms under her watchful eye. 

This involved over two hours of creeping down hallways and covering doorways on the mostly-vacant third floor with Christine and Patrick. During their breaks, Ronnie would position a half-dozen cardboard cutouts of movie stars and advertisement models, then follow behind the four of them, grading and critiquing their encounters with the cellulose opponents. 

It all reinforced Rhonda’s earlier lessons about Rebecca and Sam’s SMGs maneuvering better than larger guns like Patrick’s Black Tusk 416 carbine or Chrissie’s shotgun. They settled into a rhythm of Rebecca and Sam creeping forward stealthily, supported by firepower of the other couple. It was very different from what Rebecca was used to — usually following Ronnie’s lead with the Tavor, or covering others with Felicia while Sam watched her back. She was starting see why Ronnie wanted her to practice with the P90 and use it for clearing tight spaces — it was noticeably lighter, and several inches shorter than even her compact Tavor, which Ronnie had her alternate back to a few times to get a feel for the differences. She also came to appreciate the new helmets Rhonda had insisted they get used to — sleeker than the more classic design she’d seen most of the "grunts" wearing on guard duty, cut high over mounted earmuffs and sporting rails for other accessories on the sides and forehead. After thumping against a few walls in quick movements, she contemplated how she would have appreciated one the day Sebastien nearly bounced her head off of a brick wall underneath the other end of town.

Ronnie made them do their first several run-throughs without any of the bells and whistles they’d picked up from Black Tusk. Eventually, she let them start using the flexible "peekaboo" camera and spherical drone they’d taken from Black Tusk in the fall, to expand upon the basics.

Rebecca eventually realized that she and Sam were picking up on each other’s patterns, progress towards the sense she and Ronnie shared for guessing each other’s next moves. During the next break, she pondered if her Relationship with Sam would add to that at all… maybe some benefit to partially make up for the pitfalls and distractions of going into combat with someone you were that kind of close to?

When they’d started to get fatigued and sloppy (and a little grumpy), Ronnie let (most of) them settle around a whiteboard downstairs, and set Rebecca to sketching out the floor plan of her apartment building. They were in one of the never-finished retail spaces on the ground level, surrounded by high ceilings, partially drywalled metal-framed walls, and wide stretches of uncovered concrete floor. The tall windows let more light in for work projects or get-togethers like this, but it also meant they were draftier. Rebecca pulled the zipper on her heavy sweatshirt up the rest of the way and tucked her elbows in closer to her body as she drew on the board.

Garage, lobby, her floor, her apartment. She had to close her eyes and visualize walking through the space a few times to get the proportions right, and saw Sam looking at her worriedly when she reopened them a second time. She made sure to smile reassuringly and gratefully at her before lifting the marker to the board again.

"So… stairwell…. hallway… and 306, here." She finished filling in the doors between the stairwell and her apartment, then along the rest of the hallway to the far stairwell, capped the pen, and set it down with a sigh.

Ronnie nodded approvingly. "Thanks, kid. So. You’re our home turf eyes on this, and probably on or near point. How do we go in?"

Rebecca hesitated, but Ronnie remained silent with that absolute certainty that her question would be answered that let her remain completely, unemotionally, patient. Sam encouraged her quietly from the end of the row of folding chairs arranged in front of the whiteboard, where she sat with her helmet in her lap. "You got this, sugar."

Rebecca nodded, as much in gratitude as to convince herself of the affirmative. She woke a tablet on the table, connected it to a little USB-powered micro projector, and aimed it at the whiteboard, temporarily overlapping her drawing. "First… I think we need a staging area that isn’t right in the middle of the apartment buildings. A good spot to park the cargo truck, and for Cat to meet us at."

She pointed to the lower corner of the projected map. "There’s this little trailhead area across the creek, to the southeast. It’s got a small parking lot, a picnic area, and a restroom building… and the main entrance actually comes through the apartment complex and fords the creek here." She tapped on the board at the appropriate spot.

Rebecca glanced at Ronnie for signs of approval or otherwise, but just like when she was first interrogating Sebastien months ago, Ronnie left her to run with it, so she continued. "So we could come into the park through this fire road from another neighborhood… set up a perimeter around the trailhead, I think the building and rock walls around the picnic area would be good cover. We scope out the creek ford and probably cross there or even upstream of it… and then duck into the woods west of the entry kiosk. Use those as cover to circle up to the building. I have a key that should still work on the back door here, that leads to the downstairs storage areas."

She shuttered the projector, and started pointing at her drawings instead. "Hallway between the storage closets here goes to the garage, left to the stairway at my end of the building, and then up, without walking around between all of the buildings in the main parking lot. We’d only be exposed to the apartments on the back side of the building. Uh, I guess we could have some folks cover us from the woods?"

Ronnie nodded when Rebecca looked to her again, but there was still something else that troubled Rebecca. "But… that puts us between the armory and the apartments. I don’t know what to do about that."

"Don’t worry, Bex. You did good." Ronnie unshuttered the projector again and stepped forward to the board. "We circle the wagons here, like you were saying. Once we know that area’s clear, we send two Humvees, one of them with the Mark 19… sorry, the grenade launcher… back out the same way we came in, around to the fork in the road that splits between the front of the apartment complex and the back entrance to the armory — looks like an employee parking lot. They post up out of sight, and come in loud if we run into trouble, mirrored by the squad on security in the park. A squad securing that outer intersection will prevent surprises from the other end of the complex, and we need to have that route to the armory secure to bring the vehicles in after scouting it on foot anyway. The group moving up through the trees can be split into three squads, one to make entry and make sure the building is clear at our back before we move on the armory, and one to cover each direction out of the woods. It looks like they’re a good quarter mile deep, so we should be able to lurk undetected from either side."

Rebecca followed Ronnie’s gestures on the map with her eyes."Okay, but that sounds like a lot of people. Are you going to sell whoever’s in charge of Fairbanks’ people all of this?"

"Oh, we just did. I’m pretty good about telling myself things. Easy information sharing and all that."

Rebecca blinked away a frown as she unpackaged Ronnie’s meaning. "Oh! So you’re in charge of the whole thing?"

Ronnie grinned as the others followed suit or nodded approvingly from their chairs. "Sure, kid. I’ve run platoon-level ops before. Fairbanks has other things to do, and we’re a bit short on brass. Plus, he reckons, correctly, that I know 'our' half of things better than anyone he’d send, and his people will all respond well enough to me just based on rank. I’ve actually been putting this together for several days."

"Huh. Fair enough. That makes me feel a lot better about being put on the spot to plan things, too."

Ronnie clapped her lightly across the back. "Ah, relax. I told you, you did good. Everybody get your stuff together today and check it all over. Pat, Chris, it turns out we will be needing your ride tomorrow like I said we might. If you’re following Rebecca and Sam in, I’ll need two grunts in the driver and gunner seats."

"All good, Sarge." Christine nodded, as did Patrick next to her.

"Wait, what? Chrissie… you don’t have to, you know." Rebecca was hesitant — she knew better than to try to sideline Sam, but she didn’t see a reason that Patrick or Christine specifically had to be going into harms way for her. She saw Sam give her a trademark "shut up, dummy" eyebrow and lip twitch just before Christine answered.

"Oh come on, silly. We already told Ronnie we wanted to."

"Yeah, why do you think she had us practicing with you?" Patrick grinned and shook his head at Rebecca, before Christine continued.

"You came and got us last year, goofball. Why wouldn’t we help you?"

Rebecca shrugged. "I don’t know. This is… more trivial, just a personal thing…"

Christine stood, and stepped in front of Rebecca, placing a hand on each of her shoulders. "Oh, and getting our asses saved isn’t going to be personal? Friends take care of each other, you numpty." 

"I… well… thank you, Chrissie."

"Of course, silly. Just… think of it as us helping you with an errand, or moving. Errands are just more dangerous these days. All of them. So we take care of each other."

"Okay. I can do that."

"Good!" Chrissie pulled her into a brief hug and then departed with Patrick, collecting the gear they’d been practicing in from a table towards the rear of the large room. Rebecca lingered briefly (which meant Sam did too).

"Hey, Ronnie…"

Rhonda finished picking up the tablet and projector and turned to her. "What’s up, kiddo?"

"Totally off topic, but… I was thinking. We haven’t seen as much of you lately now that we kinda settled in here, and you encouraged me to start doing watch rotations with Sam and others. I know recently you’ve been busy with all the construction and logistics and security recently, but even before that. Are you… well, okay?"

Ronnie smiled at her. "Ah, cookie. You and your big heart. Yeah, I’m good. I’ve got stuff to do and I’m getting it done. Don’t feel bad just because you’re leaving the nest more often."

"Okay. If you say so. I was just worried you might be lonely, and, you know. I guess I kinda miss you. Maybe I’m just projecting…"

"Tell you what. After we get back from this trip, I’ll make a point of making sure we spend more time together."Sam interjected from where she leaned forward in a chair, with her elbows on her knees. "Oh god, Remy, if you get me stuck with more PT, I swear Rufus is taking your place in the bed."

Rhonda laughed. "I don’t want to disrupt your domestic harmony. I’ll just join you for a meal every week, maybe drop by and bullshit with you during a watch and make sure the two of you aren’t getting too distracted with each other, that kind of thing."

Sam rose and moved a few steps to Rebecca’s side. "Well, I guess that’s okay. MOM."

Rebecca chuckled. "Okay, Ronnie. I’m sorr… oof!" Sam elbowed her in the ribs, continuing her ruthless campaign to discourage Rebecca’s habitual apologies. Rebecca rounded on her playfully. "Hey, you wanna go? I thought you said you didn’t want more training. Ronnie, you got the knives on you?"

Sam pinched her chin thoughtfully. "Hmm. You know, I would… but I’m going to be the adult here. I know we’re going to hate getting up tomorrow enough as it is."

Rebecca shook her head at her in mock frustration, and then leaned in to kiss her cheek. "Okay, let’s grab our crap and go before Ronnie decides she’s had enough of us."

She paused as she slung her armor over one arm and the P90 over the other. "Ronnie… if you ever do need something, please… Like Chrissie says, we take care of each other, right?"

Rhonda looked her square in the eye. "I will, Rebecca."

"Okay. See you later? I’m sure you’re going to come around and mama bear over our gear."

"You know it. Didn’t you just say you wanted to see more of me? Now scram, we’ve all got a bunch of prep to do."

**

Rebecca groaned and flexed her fingers wide open and closed several times. "God… even with this gadget Ronnie scrounged up for me… loading one of these 60’s SUCKS." She flipped the lever on a black plastic device she held down atop the chunky magazine to push a round down against the spring loaded feed, slid a fresh round into the space it created, and flipped the lever again. 

"I should be grateful for what I have though… until she got it from Erik for me… just… RIP my thumbs, pushing sixty rounds in one at a time."

Sam looked up at her with a smile, shook her head affectionately, and went back to coiling the flex cam more tidily than she had at the end of their training session. "That was sweet of you, checking in on Ronnie like that."

Rebecca clacked the lever again. "Well, she took such good care of me for several months, even when I wasn’t with it enough to realize she was. And, you know. We might as well assume everyone is having a rough time emotionally, just given the scale of shit that’s happened." Her tone changed for the last few words of her sentence, a little distant and reflective.

Sam kicked Rebecca’s toe under the table to bring her back. "If you’re not freaked out, something’s wrong with you? Yeah, pretty much. Maybe she’s able to process it, or at least function through it better, having seen so much more than we have? A thicker skin?"

"Maybe. But that worries me too, like, would it all build up? And might that thicker skin mean we wouldn’t notice if she was having trouble? Or even that she wouldn’t?"

Sam slid the camera into its pouch on the armor she had hanging over the back of a dining chair. "It’s possible, but don’t get trapped spinning about it. You did the right thing today, just checking in, making sure she knew she had people."

Rebecca paused the movements of her hands and looked over at Sam with a feigned thoughtful frown. "That sounds familiar. Like I’ve heard it somewhere before."

Sam tapped her chin. "About 4 or 5 months ago? Yeah, that sounds about right." She smirked at the allusion to her early lectures along very similar lines. "And see? Look at Chrissie and Pat stepping up to help you."

"I know, I know. I listened to you eventually. They didn’t have to."

"That’s part of why they did, babe. That, and we’re kinda all in this together."

Rebecca lifted her eyebrows briefly and quirked her mouth to one side, conceding the point, and loaded another round into the magazine. Four rounds of silence later, she sighed. "I’m a little nervous about tomorrow."

Sam set down the radio handset she was about to attach to her armor and walked around the table to Rebecca, sitting in the chair next to her. "In a bunch of different ways, I bet. You’ve got more to be edgy about than the rest of us."

Rebecca lay the magazine down and reached out to Sam, who took her hands in hers. "Yeah. I… you know, I think I’ve reached a stable point grieving for Jaime. Like, it hurts, hell yes it hurts, but it doesn’t sneak up on me anymore. I don’t THINK a few new reminders of him will set me back too much, maybe they will. But I don’t know what other reminders of my old life WILL ambush me and knock me off balance. And that’s on top of just worrying about staying safe and if we’ll run into any trouble."

Sam squeezed her hands gently. "It’s always the little details that getcha out of the blue, isn’t it. Never the thing you’re expecting or prepared for. But, I’ll be with you. We’ll all be with you. Well, except Rufus, he’ll be here sleeping or eating while we do all the hard work, but he’ll be here for you to slobber on you when we get back, because we ARE going to get back just fine. We’re going to have dozens of people with us, hardened survivors and trained professionals, and we’re only going a few miles. We’ll have a ton of hardware with us… a fucking grenade launcher! Even Cat’s going to be there after we tell her it’s clear to bring the truck in."

"All these people just so I can go look for a pair of shoes I left behind or my favorite mug."

Sam grinned. "It’s almost enough to make you feel special, isn’t it?" She leaned forward to kiss Rebecca as she stood again. One hand’s fingertips traced along the back of Rebecca’s hand, then up her arm and across her shoulders as she circled behind her and returned to her own gear.

Rebecca reopened her eyes after enjoying the sensation for a moment. "Even if it wasn’t, you sure are."

Sam pretended to roll her eyes. "Hah. Such a line. I’m glad you didn’t use them all up night before last."

Rebecca smirked as she finished putting the last several rounds (back) into the magazine they’d emptied for training and set it aside on the table — still figuring out what to carry as her combat load. Probably go for the two extremes, the P90 and Felicia? She wasn’t sure if the military squaddies would be bringing any long-range coverage themselves, so maybe she’d better. "Jeez," she shook her head with a single half-chuckle. "Just a year and a half ago I was planning out when to write the next part of an essay, or what quiz to study for. It feels a lifetime away."

Sam smiled at her empathetically. "Yeah. In a way, I suppose it was. It’s hard to believe you’re the same person, right? Who the hell would have thought." Then after a short pause, "Are you okay?"

Rebecca nodded. "I am. Just… one of those recurring waves of surreality, I guess. Maybe it’s on my mind because we might be starting to find our way back." She nodded again, but this time to point towards Sam’s gear. "Do you need help with anything?"

"No, this is pretty much squared away. Why don’t you take Rufus out for his evening constitutional, and I’ll pack our lunches for tomorrow?"

Rebecca paused as she stood, with a laugh. "What? So domestic sounding…"

"I know, right? PB&J’s and everything."

"I repeat my inquiry. What?"

Sam’s eyes twinkled as she stepped around into the kitchen, both Rufus and Rebecca tracking her with their eyes. She pulled a rolled-up paper bag from the cupboard, and held it up meaningfully. "Allie slipped me a loaf of bread this afternoon."

"Oh, she does know the way to our hearts, doesn’t she?" Rebecca gestured across the counter for Sam to pass her the bag, and held it up to smell with her eyes closed, sighing happily. She was pretty reluctant to hand it back when she opened her eyes again. "Promise you won’t eat it all while I’m gone?"

"Hmm." Sam pretended to consider the notion. "Nah… I know you’d never forgive me, and I really can’t go back to a cold bed every night."

Rebecca smirked as she lifted a jacket from the back of one of the breakfast bar stools and shrugged it on, pulling her honey-wood blonde hair free of the collar. "It’s good to know what I’m valued for. C’mon, Rufus."

He rose to his feet with the swiftness of any dog who recognizes an imminent walk as Rebecca reached for his leash on its "hook" (screw protruding from the wall) , and trotted to her side eagerly. She clipped it to his collar, scooped up her pistol, radio, and a flashlight from where they sat in a small trio on the counter, and turned on Sam’s radio where it remained. A slight smile lingered on her face as she left, hearing the clatter of butterknives in the silverware drawer from the kitchen.

**

Rebecca tried to use the flashlight sparingly once she was outside, straining to let her eyes adjust to the dim illumination cast by scattered low-voltage landscape and accent lights suspended overhead. She let Rufus do his business near the property’s fringe, and then led him towards one of the firewood sheds. Making her way back with a trio of small logs tucked under her arm, she recognized Rhonda’s voice, and picked her out amongst the shadowy figures near the vehicles parked between the two large buildings.

She could tell from Ronnie’s tone that she was displeased with something, and set her firewood down in a pickup truck’s bed, leaning against it to linger a polite (safe) distance away. It wasn’t tear-someone-down-and-show-them-the-error-of-their-ways pissed, but clearly frustrated that something wasn’t doing what it was supposed to. Once the conversation died down and the group of uniformed shadows started to disperse, Rebecca wiggled Rufus’ leash lightly to roust him from where he was sitting, and made her way over.

"Hey, mama bear. Problem?"

Ronnie’s arms were still crossed as she turned to face Rebecca, and jerked her head over her shoulder. "Hmph. One of their Humvees is not up to snuff. And, of course, it’s the one with the fullly enclosed turret." She unfolded her arms and gave Rufus a pat in greeting as he sniffed at her hand, resting the other on her hip.

"What’s wrong with it?"

"The tire inflation system is leaking — if it’s not turned on, the front left goes flat."

"Well… that’s pretty much the opposite of working…."

"Right?" Rhonda shook her head disapprovingly. "It’s drivable if the compressor is on but if that fails, you eventually have yourself a flat tire… so I’m sure as hell not taking it outside the wire tomorrow. Someone should have just disconnected the damn thing by now and run it old school." A tinge of worry started to show on Rebecca’s face, but she wasn’t sure if it was visible, or if Ronnie just predicted it. "Don’t worry, we’re still going, it’s just not. One less weapons carrier in the convoy, but we’ll still have plenty of teeth. I’m glad you wandered by though."

Rebecca leaned back against the vehicle opposite Rhonda, a "regular" pickup truck in military drab colors, resting one elbow on the hood. "What’s up?"

"So, you’re a smart cookie. You probably figured out that I’m hopefully not going inside with you tomorrow."

Rebecca nodded. "I figured, given how you were 'supervising' rather than leading training lately. It makes sense, if you’re in charge of the op, you need to be out commanding the larger group."

Rhonda nodded approvingly. "I’m glad you get it. You have more field experience than the rest of your gang, and it’s literally your home turf, so the others will definitely follow your lead. But, things could get emotional dipping back into your old life. Are you going to be level-headed enough to be in charge of your team?"

Rebecca didn’t want to answer too quickly, and she forced herself to frown for a moment and weigh Ronnie’s inquiry. "Yes. I’m pretty sure I am — sure, something might upset me, but I care too much about my friends, about Sam, to let their safety come second to anything. The worst thing that could happen tomorrow is that they get hurt on some stupid little excursion just for me."

"Good, but stow that second part. This is neither the first nor the last time we do something specifically for someone in our growing family here. Scavenging trips for a particular medicine, something to fix Nate’s wheelchair, or to look for someone’s family. Those are all part of life these days. We’re not just picking missions because of some practical objective. The real mission these days is carrying on living. Having lives, rebuilding them for ourselves and for everyone. Pure basic survival is not sustainable long term, and it certainly doesn’t put us on a footing to fix things."

"But there’s nothing in my apartment we NEED to stay alive, Ronnie. From a big picture rational view, we should just go hit the depot, get the solar panels, not take any unnecessary risks."

Rhonda raised one eyebrow slightly. "Who knows what you might have forgotten you had that would be useful? And, I’m surprised Sam hasn’t beaten this out of you yet."

Rebecca shrugged apologetically. "I guess the upside of not being the only one lecturing me these days is sometimes you can be the one who gets me to shut up and listen?"

That got a little chuckle out of Ronnie. "Yeah, I guess that’s something, I’ll take it. Let me boil it all the way down for you. Every time you feel bad about letting someone do something for you, or hesitant or worried guilty about it… turn it around. I know Sam’s obvious, but if Chrissie wanted to go look for something, wouldn’t you go with her? Maybe even push to?"

Ronnie waited for Rebecca to respond, even though both of them knew what the answer would be, and why she was making her say it.

"Yeahhh."

"Then shut up and let them do it for you too. If you expect them to let you go above and beyond for them, it’s hypocritical and disrespectful to try and deter them from doing the same."

Rebecca sighed. "Well, even Sam didn’t put it quite that bluntly. But okay. I get it. I mean, my feelings are still complicated about it all, but I get it."

"I’m surprised, she can be pretty direct. Like that day she publicly demonstrated to everyone you were A Thing. But, I knew you’d come around, it was just a matter of reminding you of the rest of the equation, AGAIN, that you had to let others do for you what you’d want to do for them."

Rebecca felt her cheeks warm briefly at the memory of her first very public kiss with Sam, before her thoughts refocused on the conversation. "Thanks, Ronnie. While we’re turning the tables on each other, are you sure you’re doing okay these days? I realized the last time I asked, it might not have been private enough."

Ronnie tilted her head appraisingly as she looked at Rebecca. "I appreciate the logic behind that, kiddo." She continued after a mere moment’s pause. "It feels good to be getting shit done, more than we were last year, you know? Yeah, we’re living through some pretty fucked up shit. But that’s how I handle the state of things — working to put it all back how it should be. Keeping people safe, building a better world for them, kicking anything that would threaten them in the teeth."

"Once a Marine, always a Marine, huh?

"Semper Fi, kid. No such thing as a former Marine. But, it’s also just who I am. It keeps the sense of futility at bay."

"Is that why you took me under your wing? You saw something that needed doing, and Broadway just had you sitting around?"

Ronnie took longer to reply than Rebecca had expected. "Sort of. I could tell you were a wreck at a glance, I’ve seen torn up people before. Watching you for a little bit, you reminded me of some people from my past."

Rebecca blinked, she hadn’t heard this before. "Oh. Folks that had just taken some big hits from life?"

Ronnie waggled her hand in a rocking motion as she replied. "Some before, some after. Not all military either, some from school or my old neighborhoods before I enlisted. Probably the biggest similarities when it came to first impressions were with this Army 2nd LT, from a tour in Iraq before I made Gunny. Her convoy got hit, starting with two IED’s, one of which flipped a truck so it landed nose to nose with hers. She did her job, coordinating getting people out of the wrecks and keeping their perimeter effective, but she still blamed herself afterwards for choosing that route instead of another. Impartially, she made the right call, intelligence had it flagged as the safer transportation corridor, but it haunted her."

"Oh, jeez…"

"Yeah. Good leaders are often hard on themselves. But, patrols and convoys on the other two likely routes ran into just as much trouble on other days. There’s just no way to know the future with certainty. Even if it never feels like enough, sometimes you have no option but to make your best possible decision without knowing the future. Sometimes, you run into trouble even after everything you try. You anticipate what you can, you prevent what you can, and ultimately just have to deal with what comes anyway."

"… and after enough second guessing, sometimes you have to accept not blaming yourself anymore."

Rhonda nodded. "Yup. I’m glad you eventually got there about Jaime. Hopefully there’ll never be something that big for you again. But you have to accept there might be, and carry on anyway, or we’ll be paralyzed with fear and whither away. Without all the societal padding, inaction won’t end well."

"So… moral of the story, don’t get paralyzed by fear, don’t get too emotional on the job, get over myself about letting people help me?"

Ronnie chuckled again. "I guess that’s a pretty good summary, yeah."

"Okay." Rebecca pushed away from the truck she was leaning on. "I’m sorry to tarnish your tough and in charge image, but…" She wrapped her arms around Ronnie’s waist and hugged her tightly. "Thank you for everything, then and since. I appreciate you."

She felt Ronnie return the embrace and pat her on the back as they separated. "You got it, kiddo. You should be proud of how far you’ve come. But don’t tell everyone I’ve been so complimentary, it would undermine my authority with these new knuckleheads."

"Copy that, boss. On a more practical note, do you need to check on Sam’s and my gear?"

"Nah, you can be sure I’ll let you know tomorrow if I see a problem, but you’ve got enough experience that you should be able to cross check each other’s."

Rebecca had a little trouble wrapping her head around that leap of confidence, but… okay… she supposed that if she did forget some little thing and have a learning experience, it was best to do it in a big group like this that could absorb small errors. "Well… I guess we’ll do our best to pass inspection in the morning. When do you want us ready to go?"

"We’ll leave a little after first light, once we can see the road without using headlights. Big day tomorrow, especially for you and Sam, so you should finish up and get some rest."

"Okay. G’night, Ronnie. C’mon Rufus!"

"Goodnight Rebecca. Give Red my regards." Rhonda watched Rebecca nod back over her shoulder as she scooped up the firewood she’d set down and made her way back to their building, gravel crunching underfoot and her dog trotting alongside. Hopefully it wouldn’t be too big of a day. If her years had taught her anything, sometimes boredom wasn’t a bad thing.

**

Sam woke the next morning to the lilting tones of her phone’s alarm. It was a year newer than Rebecca’s, and demonstrated consistently better battery life. Dawn cast a little light through their windows, and she joined Rebecca in fumbling their way out of bed and setting about the day in front of them. Rebecca stoked the fire while Sam busied herself in the kitchen, finishing the half-prepared breakfast she’d left standing by last night. Hopefully the tea she’d sealed up in a large thermal flask was a good omen - steam rose from the spout when she opened it, taking a moment to enjoy the wafting scents of mint and lemongrass from that same favorite green blend of Rebecca’s.

Sam still longed for quality coffee, but she’d come to appreciate the tea’s gentler caffeine surge (more of a swell, really) in the mornings, compared to the overclocking or artificial energy sustenance she’d historically relied on magic beans for.

Their morning meal was quick and intentional, and before long they were dressing for the day. Sam paused for a moment to admire Rebecca’s curves in her snug black leggings, before she pulled a pair of cargo shorts and knee pads over them.

Sam was wearing a pair of well-worn but robust Carhartt jeans — an old favorite she’d developed hunching and scrambling in robotics workshops — over her own athletic base layers. Her top involved more creativity, since she was smaller-framed than the original owners of their Black Tusk "space marine" body armor. Even adjusted as closely as they could manage, she still floated and rattled around in it a little.

"Zip me up, won’t you darling?" She turned to face away, and smiled to herself at the feeling of Rebecca so nearby behind her. Sam scrunched her shoulder blades together as Rebecca closed up the neoprene "vest" they’d improvised by cutting down the only women’s wetsuit they’d found in her size. The real thing probably existed somewhere, but it wasn’t like she could just pull it up on 2-Day Prime Shipping anymore. The extra bit of padding it gave her snugged things up enough to be more comfortable, though she occasionally pondered what she’d do once the weather warmed up.

Sam’s lightly flirtatious tone remained as she continued quietly. "Mmm, thank you. Seems like you’re getting me all dressed up for a nice drive and might be plotting to take me back to your place afterwards." That earned her a chuckle and warm kiss on the side of her neck, and as she let the pleasant tingle it sent down her spine fade, she felt Rebecca step away and heard the snaps and clicks of mostly familiar equipment buckles a moment later. Sam turned and realized the one foreign sound was from Ronnie’s loaned SMG’s sling attachment.

That sobered her mood as she hefted her righteously purloined armor over her head and cinched it down. Getting lost in constant paranoia and forgetting entirely about quality of life was a big challenge, but she found the near-constant elevated vigilance life required these days made it just as easy to slip into potentially dangerous lackadaisical casualness. She’d been meaning to bring that up with Ronnie some day, maybe get some advice.

At least her gear didn’t smell like misguided butthead anymore, after some detailed cleaning and months of hanging it with cedar sachets stuffed inside. (Realistically, that probably also helped cover up a subtle bouquet of her own sweat and funk too.) As she slipped on the helmet Ronnie had sourced, she was grateful the process didn’t need repeating (yet), as it seemed practically new.

She clicked the helmet’s main buckle in place, and then held still as Rebecca helped adjust where the straps conjoined under her ears — a part she always had trouble with on her own. She took a moment to glance searchingly into her Partner’s eyes so close by, looking for signs of stress or worry. "You doing okay, sugar?"

Rebecca’s eyes flickered to hers for a moment before she continued her task. "Yeah, I think so. As usual, Ronnie gave me a pretty good pep talk."

"Sarge is always looking out for us."

Rebecca made briefly lingering eye contact again as she switched sides and her face passed directly in front of Sam’s. "Yeah. I know that if I get too stressed out about things, it’ll actually make me more likely to miss something important. Honestly, I think some of her coaching about staying cool lining up a long shot is relevant for this too."

Sam found the casual, conversational tone reassuring about Rebecca’s emotional state, and leaned forward for an affectionate headbutt, gently thunking the shells of their matching helmets together. They finished getting their gear on several minutes later, just in time to hear a few vehicles fire up outside and settle into a loud cold idle. Sam smiled at Rebecca once more at close range, then stepped away to scoop up her pack and tool bag. "Well, I guess that’s our cue."

**

Rebecca crinkled up her nose when she caught a whiff of fumes from the smog-exempt military engines, and suspect poor Rufus did the same. She politely flagged down the first soldier to pass by, her breath fogging in the chilly morning air. "'Scuse me, which vehicle is Golf Two?"

The young woman, the first female soldier she’d seen in the garrison at their settlement, slowed and glanced at them. "You must be the Gunny’s sniper girl and engineer wiz. Golf Two is the desert tan slantback there." Rebecca followed her gesture and picked out the Humvee she was indicating — it was one of three idling Humvees, accompanied by the basso rumble of a taller cargo truck. One was the blue and black former PMC vehicle Patrick and Christine usually drove — Rebecca was unsurprised by its presence, since it was armed, armored, and equipped with all-angle gunner protection, with steel plates and plenty of armored windows curving around and overhead with only a few very narrow gaps.

Golf Two had the top hatch for a gunner, but no turret, and the third Humvee, in darker "forest" colors, had boxy steel plating to the sides and rear of the gunner and a sloped plate around the hefty fifty cal poking out, but an open top.

Not wanting to interfere with whatever the woman needed to get done, Rebecca hastily thanked her and threaded her way through the small swirl of activity so she and Sam could stow their bags and her rifle case in the cargo bed and plug their phones into a 12V charging tap on the Humvee’s 24V electrical system. By the time they’d opened the rear hatch and arranged their gear, Rebecca managed to pick Leonard out in the crowd of well-wishers gathered at the edge of the courtyard, and they led Rufus over to him.

"Good morning, ladies. Allison sends her love, and apologizes for not seeing you off in person. She’s pretty queasy this morning, and I managed to convince her the stairs were a bad idea."

Rebecca’s brow furrowed. "Oh no… these fumes probably wouldn’t help. Please tell her we hope she feels better, and not to worry too much? I thought she was getting better."

"Mostly, but it still rears its head some days." Leonard reached out for Rufus’ leash, which Sam handed over.

"Remy, I’m pretty sure we all know getting Allie not to worry about us is unrealistic." Then, to Leonard, "But yes, please do give her a hug for us."

He nodded. "Of course. Be safe, and I hope you find something good and nothing uncomfortable today, Rebecca. And, Sam, I hope things work out with those solar panels. I’m sure you could put them to good use around here."

Rebecca patted Rufus and promised him they’d be back soon, which got a hesitant tail swish, and rose again. "Thanks… and for taking care of the big guy here while we’re away."

"Again, of course. I look forward to his help with the dishes."

The girls grinned, and caught sight of Christine and Patrick over by their distinctively painted ride as they turned back to the vehicles. They waved, and all converged at the circle of people starting to gather around Ronnie and Golf Two. Rebecca quickly realized that the four of them were the only people not in some sort of camouflage underneath the slightly mishmash collection of body armor and tactical vests.

"Alright everyone." By the time Rhonda finished the first word, the scattered side conversations hushed. "Teams have been over their parts of the plan quite thoroughly, we’ll do a full briefing once we link up with the rest of the detachment at the airfield. For now, situation is as anticipated. Weather similar to yesterday, clear and cold, mid 40’s warming towards high 50’s. Dawn drone flights of our route to the airfield don’t show any activity or new obstructions, no likely hostile contact."

She proceeded to rattle off a series of waypoints and eight-digit grid coordinates that Rebecca couldn’t parse, but everyone wearing mottled earth tones seemed to understand — she just knew they’d be skirting the edge of town before crossing over the river and then cutting south to the airport, the street names, and which ramp to take at the really confusing last causeway interchange. Those were followed by communication frequencies, challenge phrases and a duress codeword, and a line of succession for command — which chilled Rebecca to hear.

Ronnie eventually closed the "mini" briefing with what Rebecca had come to recognize as a codifed-in-the-procedure call for any questions, and then orders to "mount up." The crowd dispersed to their vehicles, Ronnie joining them in the front "command" seat of Golf Two with a garrison member Rebecca vaguely recognized as their driver — "Adams", according to his name patch.

The dark forest camouflage with the open fifty took the lead at Ronnie’s radioed call to move out, with Golf Two following, then the big cargo truck, and Patrick, Christine, and two soldiers bringing up the rear in their "civilian militia" vehicle. Rebecca waved to Leonard through the scuffed armored window, and winced as the Humvee thumped across a pothole, rattling the spartan interior and her teeth along with it. At least the cabin heater had been running while the engine warmed up — but she saw what Ronnie had meant about the world of difference between the vehicle she sat in now, possibly as old as she was, and the much newer, larger truck they’d commandeered during the Black Tusk attack. Even the interior of "P & C’s" Humvee was comparably plush. She was just glad for the streams of fresh air that leaked in, they helped the headache and nausea she’d started to get from the exhaust lingering in the courtyard. Exposing poor Allie to that would have definitely been no bueno at all!

Rebecca settled the borrowed P90 between her knees as she watched their little compound roll by, and then away as they passed sentries and climbed the ramp to the main gate. Squaring away her own gun made her wonder what Ronnie would be using meanwhile, and she glanced past her friend’s shoulder in the front seat. She’d heard the "every Marine a rifleman" maxim at least once and had seen Ronnie using a long M16 lately, but this was the first time Rebecca had seen what was unmistakably a grenade launcher attached to it, much like her own old M4 carbine and its small under-barrel shotgun. Jeez. That sure would have been nice to have last year… but she was grateful enough for it to be around now.

She looked out of the scratched and scuffed window at the messy and unkempt streets, contemplating the past months for a while. Eventually she felt another vibration under her elbow through the background rumble of knurled tires and uninsulated sheet metal. She glanced over and realized Sam had knocked on the unoccupied gunner’s seat / standing position between them to get her attention, and was drawing her attention to pushing a particular preset on her radio. Rebecca nodded and flipped over to their own channel and pushed the cantilevered headphones on her helmet closed over her ears.

It was a little silly using wireless radios to talk just a few feet away, but it let them hear each other clearly and talk quietly, still audible over the little boom microphones along their cheeks. (Rebecca had given up on the SpecOps-style throat contact mic after growing frustrated with the tangle of extra wiring and occasional rash it gave her after extended use.)

"Hi, Rosie."

"Hey you." Sam subconsciously pulled the mic boom closer, which actually just added more rustling to the background noise, but was close enough Rebecca could read her lips a little. "You doing okay? Do I need to try to find a penny in my pockets? All this gear certainly has enough spots to hide one."

Rebecca chuckled at the obvious use of humor as a probing technique. "If we ever get another dog and it’s a girl, I’m so naming her that." She saw the dimple in Sam’s cheek appear with her grin. "I’m okay. Kinda… running simulations in my head, past and hypotheticals."

"Sun Tzu didn’t have anything for storming your own apartment, huh?"

"Not specifically, no. There’s probably some parallels to be drawn about knowing your home territory and stuff." Sam smiled at her, obviously waiting for something more material to go with the banter. Rebecca pondered for a moment that she was the one with a Psych almost-degree, but maybe Sam went into engineering because she already had all that stuff down? Anyway, she obliged her. "I’m… probably just the right amount of nervous. Stressed enough to stay on edge, but not enough to lose my shit. I don’t want to fuck up today and need to get rescued… or, really, to have to figure out rescuing anyone else either! That might be even worse."

Sam leaned over so their gloved hands could connect, and squeezed reassuringly. The movement caught Rhonda’s attention, but she returned to her own radio conversation with only the smallest of grins, and Rebecca stuck her tongue out at her playfully before looking back as Sam replied.

"That sounds like a reasonable set of goals. You’ll do okay. You can’t expect yourself to be perfect, you’re not a seasoned pro like Ronnie or someone with years of training."

Rebecca raised an eyebrow. "Uh, you know, that doesn’t exactly help the performance anxiety right?"

Sam closed her eyes for a second or two and released Rebecca’s hand long enough to hold hers up and pat at the air concedingly. "Okay, okay. Fair point. But… if you’re having trouble believing in yourself, just trust me when I do, and Ronnie when she does, and Chrissie and Patrick and all your other friends."

Rebecca liked the way the logic of that flowed as she processed it, and long-blinked her acceptance of the point, tightening her grip on Sam’s hand for a moment when they reconnected. Neither of them let go as the convoy rolled along, which Rebecca was glad for as they passed more signs of the devastation that’d come before. The streets weren’t too blocked up around town, and both the local civilians and rebuilding military presence had been working to clear obstructions… but the freeway was still clogged with abandoned vehicles from DC’s reportedly abysmal rout of an evacuation. She’d heard stories, but when they threaded past a long-abandoned police barricade and onto an overpass, she caught her first glimpse of the reality inadequately described to her.

It wasn’t complete gridlock, but it was still a hellish mess — clumps of pileups or simply abandoned cars. A jackknifed semi on the southbound side looked to have entirely blocked that direction, and scars in the center divide showed where people had gone around… until someone must have gotten stuck. Tiremarks hinted at people cutting over into the opposite direction, and maybe there’d even been official attempts at that, if the crashes she saw with overturned police vehicles were anything to go by. It looked like the cars she could see into were empty, at least, but they couldn’t all… she didn’t want to think about that, and felt a little green around the gills as she looked away.

As she glanced up, she saw Ronnie leaning her head to look at her in the side rear view mirror from where she sat in front of her. Rebecca tried to smile wanly through her dismay, and whether she was successful or not, Ronnie gave her a knowing nod that was oddly reassuring before returning to "head on a swivel" mode as they drove.

Rebecca wondered if it had been similar for young Corporal Rhonda Ellis decades before, driving through the streets of Iraq in a vehicle very similar to this one, looking at burned out cars or shelled buildings from inside a small bubble of all-too-fragile-feeling "normal".

"Normal." The new normal was that "normal" felt foreign. It’s what they were trying to build back to… like Ronnie was telling her the night before. God knows they’d made progress, and she couldn’t dispute the fact she’d contributed, competently at times… but even with Ronnie’s reassurances, and Sam’s very solid logic, anxiety lingered in the pit of her stomach as they rumbled (and rattled) down one- and two-lane roads skirting the core of the city.

By the time they rolled up to the gates at the county airport turned local headquarters, she was leaning her helmet against the thick window beside her and breathing shallowly. Sam had noticed and was rubbing the back of her hand comfortingly as Rebecca distantly listened to Ronnie exit the vehicle and advance to be recognized by whoever was in charge of the main gate sentries. She tried to suck it up and sat upright again as Ronnie returned and they pulled into the compound, and was eager to get her door open and gingerly pull herself upright when most of the convoy dismounted and either dealt with official business or stretched their legs.

She was trying to breathe in slow smooth breaths when Sam made it around to her side of the Humvee and rested a supportive arm under the bottom edge of her body armor. "Hey," Sam said softly, "you look like a light breeze could blow you over."

Rebecca groaned quietly, trying not to draw too much attention as she winced and rested an ineffective hand over the armor and pouches covering her abdomen. "Ugh. I’m glad you’re a girl, or I’d be really worried right now."

Sam huffed in mild amusement, but persisted. "I’m glad you’re still able to joke, but I actually am worried."

"I think it’s just nerves, and the gas fumes from before we left… maybe the bumpy ride too. I’ll be okay, please, I don’t want to bring things to a stop."

Sam frowned, torn between wanting to support Rebecca getting to look for scraps of her old life and her usual stern protectiveness, but was relieved of the decision by a third party.

Douglas Epstein caught sight of the two women as he carried a large (quietly clanking) pack that was probably full of tools towards the tall cargo truck behind them, and detoured a few yards out of his way. Rebecca tried to pull herself together, but he’d already noticed Sam noticing she was out of sorts. "Good morning Miss Clinton, Miss Conroy." (At least he wasn’t calling them "ma’am" just that moment, as he directed his attention towards Rebecca.) "Is everything okay? You don’t look so good."

She groaned again and waved a hand at him weakly. "Come on, stop being so polite all the time. It’s okay, you can just say I look like shit, I’ve been around enough military people lately, I can handle it."

"Okay, you kinda look like shit. What’s wrong?"

"It’s just my stomach. Maybe if the local motor pool techs kept the engines or suspensions on these beasts running smoother…" Rebecca was still trying to be funny, but doing it through half-clenched teeth, and Sam shook her head at her disapprovingly.

"Hey, I do the best I can with what garbage I’m given. Do you have a first aid kit?"

Both women looked at him with slight confusion, and Sam rested a hand on the compact trauma kit on her hip.

"No, not your IFAK… like, a regular kit, bandaids and ibuprofen and stuff for bumps and bruises."

Rebecca nodded towards the rear of the Humvee and immediately regretted the motion. "In our field packs in the back, yeah."

Epstein looked at Sam. "Rubbing alcohol. Dig a prep wipe out, make sure it’s alcohol and not one of those benzyl-something-or-other-chloride kind, and make her smell it for a few minutes. Trust me. If you can’t find one, let me know and I’ll see if I can snag a bottle from the corpsman to wave under her nose for a few minutes.

Not wanting to get towed around in her state, Rebecca slumped back to rest on the edge of her seat again while Sam and Epstein nodded to each other and Sam stepped around to the "trunk" to rustle and bang around in the cargo under the lid. She recoiled at the harsh odor when Sam returned and raised a small disposable wound cleaning pad to her face, but frowned and tentatively leaned closer again, breathing in what she could bring herself to. She half expected it to make her vomit on the spot, and tried to plan how she’d avoid Sam with the line of fire, but it didn’t really seem to have an instant effect one way or the other.

She closed her eyes and lost track of time, focusing on the sensation of Sam’s hand on her cheek, running her fingertips along the chin straps of Rebecca’s helmet, and controlling her breathing. But, sure enough, in what couldn’t have been less than five, but more than fifteen, minutes later, she realized she didn’t feel nearly as bad as before. She lifted her head to look at Sam, who patted the side of her face affectionately.

"That’s the right color for your cheeks again. Green isn’t a good look, but I’ll spare you any jokes about kissing a frog."

Rebecca took a long, deep (normal-smelling, as Sam lowered her other hand) breath. "Thanks. I’ll take what mercies I can get."

"Yup." Sam looked up and around for Epstein. "I don’t know where he got off to, but we’re definitely filing that one away for later — maybe even for Allie. Who’da thunk…"

"Yeah, I don’t know what’s more entertaining… the mechanic grunt with the first aid trick, or the possible implication he gets carsick…"

Sam shrugged, and then caught sight of Epstein. "Oh, there he is." He was striding past, returning from the truck, grumbling authoritatively at a couple of single-stripes in different uniform colors — one an odd checkered pattern, like an approximation of camouflage in a retro emulator game or something. But, a few minutes later, he came by again, this time solo, carrying his own gear and rifle.

"Lance," Rebecca weakly called out to him, "Thank you, really."

He glanced over and sized her up, seeing she was on the mend, and replied with a congenial salute. "Glad you’re feeling better. We need our guardian angel while we work today!"

Rebecca blushed and failed to come up with a reply before he’d passed again, heading for one of the other vehicles, parked in an angled row and firing up their engines.

Oh, no thank you, Rebecca’d had enough of that for the morning, and pulled herself back inside, tugging the door closed behind her as Sam grinned affectionately and helped from the outside. She climbed back in on her side a minute later, rubbing her arms to warm up again in the enclosed cabin. "Feeling better?"

"A bit… I think it’s trending upwards, too. I think as long as we don’t start moving again for a little, I’ll be okay."

"Good. I love you, dear."

Rebecca smiled appreciatively. "I love you too, Rosie. Thanks for taking care of me."

Sam patted her hand reassuringly. "It works both ways. We’re a good team."

Rebecca nodded and smiled, closing her eyes and resting her head against the doorframe (in the absence of a headrest on the low seat back) while Sam idly used the open alcohol wipe to touch up the clear surfaces on her gunsight. Rebecca was feeling better, but it was an ongoing gradual process, so she just let it run for a bit while she tried to take it easy for a while. She opened her eyes again and sat up when Sam rousted her with another pat on her hand.

"Hey, something’s up."

Looking outside, they saw Ronnie moving purposefully back to the vehicle, pointing and gesturing to others on the way. This looked like a bigger deal than just getting the combined convoy on the road, it looked like Ronnie was shifting back into warfighter mode.

That was confirmed when she opened the door and stopped Rebecca when she tried to ask her what was going on. "Wait one, kiddo," Ronnie told her gently, but quickly, as she picked up the vehicle’s radio handset. "Victor Romeo, Victor Three Six online. Tell Actual we’re on the move, over."

The reply came back with no crackle at all, so it must have been from the operators right here in the camp. "Copy, Three Six. First platoon needs to maintain security, but second will accelerate preparations as your QRF, ETR two-zero minutes. Two Six will update on this channel. You are clear to proceed, over."

"Copy, Victor Three out." Then, Ronnie switched channels. "Three Six to third platoon, priority. Situation change, original objectives are delayed. Drone recon has sighted a disturbance near our route, there may be civilians in need of assistance. Vehicle commanders, formation unchanged except Golf Three…" (which Rebecca knew was the big cargo truck) "… shifts behind Golf Six and in front of Golf Seven. Assemble at the main gate ready to move to nav Alpha. Three Six out."

Sam hastened to get her seat belt on and make a quick check that she knew where all of her gear was. She noticed that Ronnie shifting into "all business" mode seemed to have a similar effect on Rebecca — when Sam glanced over, she saw Rebecca’s lips tighten, her jaw set as she cinched her helmet and armor straps.

She was right. Rebecca felt some of the familiar contradictory calm tension push away her anxiety, coming back from her time posted in sniper nests or creeping through tunnels with her mentor. Something deep inside her tapped the accumulated trust and loyalty, and she knew she had to pay attention to what Ronnie said and needed, that she’d be set on the right course. Her tone was even as Rhonda set down the handset and peered through the windows to make sure everyone was doing what they were supposed to.

"What’s the word, boss?"

"At least one burning vehicle that wasn’t there yesterday, with lots of movement nearby. It’s a couple blocks off the route so I don’t think it’s related, but we’re not ruling that out either."

"Shit, okay." Rebecca started to sit back, wanting to stay out of the way, but Ronnie held a conventional civilian map back over her shoulder while she was looking at another more cryptic one.

"You probably know the area best. The blue X near our route, what’s the best way there for this many vehicles, surprise, and deployment?"

Rebecca took the map and sat back with it, eyes flickering over the streets as she tried to remember what they looked like. She paused briefly at a familiar intersection, realizing it was where the convenience store she and Jaime first stopped at during their flight to safety months before, before refocusing on the task at hand. "Flanking, pincer, direct?"

"Room for us to maneuver. We don’t know the situation there yet, if there’re badguys and they want to run instead of square off with us, that’s fine."

"Got it. Uh… left on Harris two blocks then north on Elm. There’s a shared turn lane all the way down Elm, so it’s three lanes wide."

Rhonda found it on her map, then flipped that down to look at an aerial photo behind it. "Harris has some obstructions on it. Jefferson?"

Rebecca caught her balance on the back of Ronnie’s seat as they went around a turn, and then frowned at the map again. "Uh… yeah. I guess going the wrong way down a one way street doesn’t matter anymore." 

"Rules of the road really are more guidelines these days." Rhonda studied the aerial photography for a moment more. "I like it, thanks."

Rebecca folded up the map and passed it back over, resettling in her seat as Ronnie started issuing orders to the rest of the convoy, supplementing street names with those cryptic military grid coordinates again. Yay, being useful! Sam’s quick encouraging smile when she glanced up from fiddling with her gear seemed to support the sentiment.

The convoy moved faster than before, and soon Rebecca started to see vaguely familiar streets, overgrown and detritus-filled as they were. Their condition pretty much made for peak surreality, so when Rebecca glanced up at the "Do Not Enter Wrong Way" signs as they turned off of the four-lane road onto Jefferson, it didn’t feel much weirder.

She glanced behind them through her window as they made the next turn onto Elm and saw the cargo truck and two Humvees drop back, keeping the truck out of danger and securing the intersection behind them.

She heard the radio from the front seat… "Three Six, this is Golf Zero. We see the vehicles. At least two on fire, one crashed into a storefront."

Ronnie replied, mic already in hand. "Copy Zero, slow your approach. Conserve ammo for the forty if you can. Golf One, move alongside and support."

"Copy that, top."

"Three Six, One copies."

Rebecca figured Ronnie probably wanted to save the rarer grenade launcher ammunition if they could. The Humvees in front of them split from single-file to share the street, almost abreast in a shallow echelon, and could see the turret on Golf One moving as the gunner panned the fifty cal back and forth as they advanced the final blocks through a light commercial district. Soon, she got a better view of the crash site the lead vehicle had described — the back end of a van sticking out of a demolished boutique, while remnants of an SUV or pickup truck with a shell on it smoldered and burned with low flames in the street, with another hulk beyond it, the leaves on the trees above them blackened and curled from the heat.

"Gunny, Zero taking fire!" The man’s voice from the lead vehicle was startled, and Rebecca could hear swearing from the vehicle’s other occupants in the background. Hopefully whoever was shooting wasn’t equipped with the kind of gear Black Tusk had, the Humvee’s Desert Storm era armor should protect them relatively well against small arms…

Ronnie’s voice was calm, but her volume elevated as she replied into the radio. "Herringbone, odds left! Return fire and suppress. Does anyone have eyes on?" Ronnie glanced over her shoulder as their vehicle swerved abruptly to the right, bounced one wheel up on the curb, and halted. Directly to Rebecca, she gestured to the right side of the vehicle, away from the action. "Both of you dismount that side!" 

Rebecca nodded, slapping the radio earmuffs closed over her ears and yanking on the crude door latch. Ronnie shouldered her door open and flowed around it, leveling her rifle across the hood and using the high roofline as cover.

"Six, Golf One." Rebecca heard the fifty cal start thumping in odd stereo, through the radio and ambiently vibrating through her ear protection. "Contact front, ten plus, can’t ID. Ground level, in cover on both sides of the street."

Ronnie’s followup orders probably weren't entirely necessary, but Rebecca thought they did add more crackling and banging to the partial platoon’s return fire. Probably made it more organized, at least. As she helped Sam scramble over her seat and out of the door, she glanced up and saw the lighter machine gun on the blue, black, and grey Humvee on their flank across the road twitch to a target and start firing up the middle of the street, angling between the two lead vehicles at something (someone) in front of Golf Zero. The grenadier’s turret was moving slightly, probably back and forth at potential targets, but must not have seen anything worth expending a precious round yet. Soldiers from the vehicles behind them were starting bounding rushes, covering and advancing in turn.

Once Sam was clear, Rebecca leaned back in to grab the end of Felicia’s soft case from the cargo bed, and then dragged it back out after her. She was reassured to see Sam already aiming down her Vector, sweeping back and forth as she checked buildings and cover spots behind them. The .45 caliber pistol rounds the SMG fired didn’t have a lot of range or penetration, but twenty or thirty of them would definitely make someone duck. Setting down the rifle bag, she unclipped and shoved her P90 onto the seat, then knelt down beside the bag and unzipped it.

Her mind was moving quickly enough to note the flush of warm affection as she opened the case — odd for an inanimate object, but it was a tool obtained doing something positive, that had already served her well helping people, and liberated her from something soaked in dark, painful memories. And, once again, they had work to do.

She left the bipod folded — it would be too long — and pulled the handle to chamber a round from the lower profile 20-round magazine that was already inserted. Scooting back a couple of feet from the Humvee and peering beneath, she had a good line of sight down the street so she hit the deck, braced her elbows on the ground, and popped the caps open on her scope. After a quick peer and sweep, she glanced up to Ronnie, not pressing the transmit button on her mic. "Ronnie, call my shots if you need to."

Rhonda didn’t answer, but the slightest of head nods as she popped off a shot of her own and then looked for more targets through her conical slightly magnified sight.

Rebecca turned her head the other direction, to talk to Sam. "Everything okay behind us?"

"Yeah, we’re clear for now. I’ve got your six, sugar." Sam’s professionalism slipped just enough for a quick twinkle at Rebecca before her eyes locked back down her gun barrel.

Rebecca tried to wipe a smile from her own face as she lined back up with her scope and hunted for targets. She actually recognized the shape of one sputtering muzzle flame as from the standard flash hider on M4’s, and felt a moment’s hesitation, wondering if this might be a misunderstanding with some former police or military — their vehicles weren’t exactly a uniform collection after all. But, she decided anyone like that would already have been in contact and on someone’s radar, just about the same time she realized that another flash's shape and timing looked like it was from a civilian gun with unvented barrel tip. The next time she saw someone fire, she returned it, first with one aimed round, then two more in quick followup. Unfortunately, firing under the vehicle, the concussion from her shots stirred up a lot of dust from its undercarriage and the street, so picking out hostile fire or movement and dialing in on it took longer than she would have liked as she moved from target to target.

Her eyes widened when a gout of flame blossomed and rose from the ground in the street, followed by another just a few yards short of Golf One. She realized the second came from a shattering glass bottle, and was horrified at the thought of that Humvee’s open turret. Crap, she had to find whoever was throwing those and deal with them before something awful happened… but Ronnie saved her the trouble.

"Zero, go loud!"

Rebecca had only heard a grenade launcher fire the night Black Tusk attacked, and that had been mixed in with a lot more noise while she was in an armored vehicle, so she was surprised by how much quieter it was than the fifty cal it shared a similar slow rhythm with. Unlike the fifty, its stolid short thunking bursts were echoed moments later with matching stanzas of explosions down the street. They weren’t the spectacular roiling propane fireballs Hollywood imagined them to be — or a certain trap Sam would never let her forget accidentally igniting.

Instead, the detonations were a thunderous ripple of brief flashes and sharp concussions, more smoke, dust, and debris than fire. Rebecca figured she was pretty sheltered low and behind the Humvee, but she sensed Sam flinch, scrunching up her shoulders and huddling closer to the rear wheel. She was tempted to try to reach over and comfort her with her left hand, but… without a bipod, she couldn’t let go of her rifle as she tried to scan the street between chest thumping fusillades. Regardless, she wondered what the minimum safe distance was on those things!

Ronnie’s voice reached her from above and to her right. "Bex! Blue sedan, left side! Guy behind it looks like he might be in charge. Pin him down, wing him if you get the chance."

"Copy!" Rebecca tried to yell back without lifting her cheek away from the rifle, and obediently swept her view along the cars on the left side, back to where she remembered seeing a blue car. She caught a glimpse of movement beyond it, but nothing she could hit, so she put a few sporadic shots through the windows to try to keep their head down. At the roughly thirty degree angle she was firing from, she didn’t think her rifle had enough punch to make it through two sides’ worth of sheet metal… so after trying to rain some safety glass on the guy, she shifted aim to the wheels and fired at them. Maybe the noise of tires popping and the vehicle’s weight abruptly shifting would be intimidating?

Whether fortunately or unfortunately, because of her fire or not, the figure behind the car rose just as Golf One’s gunner raked it with the heavy machine gun. He stood up into the burst and abruptly crumpled back out of view. It probably didn’t matter anyway, the .50 caliber M2’s rounds would definitely go through both sides of the car, possibly even the engine block along the way, and a wall or two behind it. Talk about overpenetration.

Things ended pretty quickly after that — the belt-fed grenade launcher on Golf Zero crashed out two more long volleys before falling silent (probably running out of things to pulverize), followed by the fifty and small arms fire tapering off. Ronnie didn’t have to call a cease fire, it seems everyone just ran out of things… people, Rebecca reminded herself, not wanting to get too distanced from the reality of things, even if it was an ugly truth… to shoot at.

After several silent, tense seconds where Rebecca could hear little but her own breath and Sam’s shoes shifting on the pavement next to her, Ronnie gestured two small teams forward under the watchful guns of everyone else. They worked cautiously up both sides of the thoroughly trashed street — smashed concrete, demolished cars (one on its side), and one toppled tree strewn well past the initial wrecks.

Once they’d set up local security, Rebecca rolled and sat up to lean her back against the bottom of the doorframe. As she caught her breath, she listened as individual team leaders reported their status over the radio, mostly using a series of color-based statuses. She sighed in relief when she pieced together there weren’t any casualties and only a couple of "yellows" regarding ammunition. It sounded like Epstein was going to have some body work to do, maybe replace a few armored windshields, but everything was drivable and mission-capable.

She made sure Felicia’s safety was on and cradled the rifle across her lap, then fumbled for Sam’s hand beside her. "You okay, Rosie?"

"Yeah, sugar. Jesus. You?" Sam was settling into a similar pose next to her, leaning her helmet back against the wheel as she tilted her head up with her eyes closed.

Rebecca nodded, with a nervous chuckle. "Better than some of our past escapades, for sure." She glanced across the street to check on Christine and Patrick with a little wave, and contemplated the two soldiers they were riding with. "You know… I think this has to be the first time some of these kids have been shot at."

Sam opened her eyes and followed Rebecca’s gaze. "Shit, you’re right. A few of them are definitely younger than us."

Rebecca picked up some of the brass shell casings from her own shooting with her free hand and tossed them onto the floorboards of the Humvee behind her for reuse — either reloads, or tripwire chimes, who knows. "I wonder how badly Ronnie’s going to chew out the guy in the front truck."

Sam shrugged, and watched as the rear guard Humvees and cargo truck creaked to a stop behind them. Epstein lifted a few fingers from the grip of his weapon in a small wave as he passed them on foot, maybe going to inspect the lead vehicles for damage. "Dunno. At least he’s alive to be yelled at."

"Amen to that." Rebecca rose and dragged her small assault backpack from the footwell of her seat, taking a few gulps from the hydration pouch’s tube before passing it to Sam, who nodded her thanks. She tilted Felicia sideways to glance at the transparent window on the side of the magazine (polymer of course, not steel, per Ronnie’s requirements), and swapped it for a full one before laying it across her seat, and resting her chin on her folded arms atop the Humvee roof.

Ronnie had moved forward to… go do leader-y things, and Rebecca could see her nod to Epstein as he passed her, glancing at the front Humvees and then moving forward to the two wrecks they’d spotted from the air. Curious, she slung Felicia, and she and Sam stepped around the nose of the Humvee and made their way up the sidewalk.

Rhonda had just started to move forward from Golf One as they neared her, and she turned to Rebecca and stopped her with a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Girls… you two aren’t going to want to see any of this."

Rebecca subconsciously glanced past Ronnie, then back to her. "Huh? What’d they find?"

"It can’t be anything pleasant, and what’s left of whoever was attacking us won’t be either. Trust me, kiddo."

Rebecca looked back at the street past Ronnie, images of the grisly effects of Chris’ C4 charge in the drainage tunnels flitting by in her memory. "Yeah… okay. What do you want us to do?"

"We just made a hell of a lot of noise. Keep an ear and eye out behind us just in case? I promise I’m not just giving you the shit job, I can trust you two to handle it."

The unsaid other half of that wasn’t lost on Rebecca. She nodded. "Okay."

She could feel Sam giving her a sideways look as they walked back and glanced at her with a shrug. "I mean, she’s not JUST trying to get rid of us."

"But she still is. Though with the shape your stomach was in… okay. Maybe she’s right."

"Fuck knows I’ve got enough post traumatic stress, I can deal with skipping adding to it if it means getting treated like a kid for a bit."

"Right?" Then, after a brief pause, Sam continued. "How’re your stomach now though? I’d think the drama might make it worse."

"I was pretty distracted at the time… starting to notice again now." Rebecca "shrugged" with one lifted eyebrow and a brief head tilt. "I don’t want to go for a run or eat a gross MRE, but… I’m alright enough, just a little off. Hopefully it was just anxiety and not a bug."

Sam seemed satisfied enough to let the topic change and blew out a long decompressing sigh of her own as they reached their ride. "Sheesh. That was over fast."

"Yeah." Rebecca unslung Felicia, folded down the bipod, and set the rifle down across the hood — this time facing the other direction, with the truck between them and the way they’d arrived from. "I’m just glad nobody got hurt. I mean… nobody we knew." She kinda felt like an ass after saying that.

Sam didn’t seem perturbed by the comment and pensively gazed into the distance as the adrenaline coursing through her fizzled. "Hopefully we can go soon. I just want to get back to poking through your closets and getting our hands on some solar panels. Simpler days…"

Several minutes later, Rhonda was apparently satisfied with poking around the scene and ordered the convoy back into traveling form. As Rebecca watched the dismounted troops make their way back to the vehicles, she noticed many of them carrying an assortment of firearms, ammunition, and a few bags. To the victors go the spoils, she supposed. Rebecca noticed Ronnie was carrying a bag, so she stepped around to open the rear of the Humvee for her while Sam moved to her own door. That got her an appreciative nod as Ronnie slung a black rucksack into the cargo bed and extracted an unloaded pistol with the slide locked back from it. She held the handgun out grip-first to Rebecca as she spoke.

"Isn’t this the full-size version of your trusty backup?"

Rebecca quirked an eyebrow and took the pistol, studying it briefly. Sure enough, it looked like the "full size" tactical version of the compact self-defense handgun she’d bought what felt like an age ago. Similar grip and contours, with a longer snout and larger magazine well. She thought she’d remembered someone at the gun shop telling her local law enforcement carried something along those lines. "Yeah, looks like it is. Did you find it on a cop or something?"

"Nobody in that mess had uniforms, but I’m sure plenty of cop cars have been looted over the last year. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of the long guns we found were from those or a local SWAT armory too."

Rebecca set her feelings about the local law enforcement agencies based Jaime’s experiences aside for the moment. "Could you tell what happened before we showed up? I’m assuming there weren’t any survivors or anything…"

Rhonda shook her head, a hint of grimness passing momentarily. "I doubt we’ll ever know. Honestly, it looked like it was just humanity breaking down, one group preying on another. I can’t really even tell if the first group were victims or aggressor, and whoever the 'winner' was didn’t take kindly to our arrival. Not the first time I’ve seen that kind of thing."

Rebecca glanced at her in brief concern, then sighed and shook her head as she looked at the pistol again and put it back.

Rhonda clapped her briefly on the shoulder before heading back to her door. "Chin up, kiddo. I know what you’re thinking. Remember how far we’ve come, what we’ve built. Hop in, hold Red’s hand for a bit. You’ll both feel better." Rebecca mentally harrumphed to herself as she secured and stowed Felicia again, but it wasn’t bad advice.

The convoy partially retraced its path in reverse order, originally trailing elements temporarily in the lead as they wound back to their original route. Rebecca was quiet as Ronnie checked in with the airfield, but reached her hand across the unoccupied gunner platform between her and Sam and intertwined their fingers. She really hoped this wasn’t an omen of how the rest of the day was going to turn out.

**

The streets continued growing more familiar, and thankfully less war-torn, as they drove for another twenty minutes. It might have taken her ten on a quiet morning a year or two before, but every little traffic obstruction wore on everyone’s mind as a potential ambush. Rebecca took a little comfort when Ronnie pointed out of the window, up towards the sky, drawing her attention to one of the friendly recon drones flying overhead. It looked like a miniature airplane — not the quadcopters she’d heard rumors about a student getting himself expelled trying to peek in dorm rooms with — with a funny inverted V between twin tails, and dangling wheels that made her think of an oversized crane fly.

Goofy appearance or not, she was glad to know there were friendly eyes on the streets ahead of and around them. She’d feel a little better if it was toting a few antitank missiles too, but… she’d take what they could get. Would it be able to see down onto the fire road / bike path they would soon transition to though? She wondered how overgrown the pleasant greenery she remembered lining the sun-and-shade dappled path would be.

She soon found out as they lurched off of the small parking lot’s pavement, across a short stretch of grass, and then back onto the paved path to get around a removable, but padlocked bollard meant to keep yahoos in cars and trucks out. They had a few pairs of bolt cutters on them, but going around was perfectly expedient.

The trees overhead had interknit some of their branches, making the little road surprisingly picturesque, like those pictures of British roads running rail straight through verdant tunnels. Bushes on the sides occasionally whipped across the hood and windshield, but the vehicles in front of them took the brunt of that assault and cleared much of the way for them. She found herself smiling a little at the memory going for solo runs along the path — busy enough on the weekends she didn’t worry about being by herself, and later outpacing Jaime on jogs, teasing him and making him race home after arguments about how much of a head start was actually fair. She even thought she recognized the rock outcropping they’d made out in the bushes behind one time… and felt her cheeks flush when Sam’s fingers tapped hers.

"Good memories?"

Busted. She must have shown it on her face somehow. "Ah… yeah." She sighed. "A few. I guess I should cherish those."

Sam thumped their still-conjoined hands against the deck reassuringly. "Yup. I expect stories later, after we get home." She winked, and then looked back out her own window, mercifully sparing Rebecca further embarrassment.

Heh. Yeah. That was a good reminder that this wasn’t home anymore. Used to be, but now home was with Sam and Rufus and Allie and all their friends. Rebecca chuckled to herself. Sam had a surprising impish interest in bawdy stories about Rebecca’s time with Jaime when she was in a place to tell them. It had taken a little to get used to, but Rebecca supposed it wasn’t too many steps past two friends gossiping about one of their partners over a bottle of booze.

Hmm. She wondered if her kitchen had been raided by someone? There had been a good bottle of cab on the counter. She spent the rest of the time on the back road flipping through the mental list of things she hoped might still be there. Of all things to be top on the list, an anatomy coloring book. She wanted it to build up their medical resources — sure, they could raid a bookstore or something, but she knew where everything was in that particular book, and it had all kinds of notes scribbled in the margins. A few other books, her laptop, photos from the walls. Mementos of her mom. Local scavenging had already replaced pretty much all of the housewares they might need, but maybe some of her old jewelry or more of her original clothes would be nice — whatever would still fit, the way the more physical lifestyle had shifted her figure around. She knew for sure that some of her tighter short-sleeved shirts weren’t going to fit over her deltoids anymore.

Just a few minutes later, the convoy was nearing their destination. The lead elements had pulled ahead, and were already radioing back that the parking lot looked secure and their dismounted riders were checking the old restroom building. Their section of the convoy followed not long after, and Rebecca drew in a grateful breath of crisp air that smelled of earth, trees, and foliage.

Sam joined her at the edge of the parking lot, taking in the view of the languid creek through the scattered deciduous trees framing the site. "Cute place for a picnic, I suppose."

Rebecca replied while she finished strapping on the old Black Tusk arm-mounted tablet they’d obtained. "For sure. When the weather was really nice, I’d bring a textbook or two and lounge in the partial sun filtering through the leaves — it really was just the perfect balance of shade and warmth. Sometimes few residents would carry a barbecue across the creek for a get-together."

"That sounds lovely. But, why’d they build a paved river crossing that goes UNDER the surface of the water? Why not just put a little bridge in? It’s not like this would get flash floods or anything crazy like that. Didn’t you get tired of getting your feet wet?"

Rebecca shrugged. (Calling the creek a "river" was being generous, but she wasn’t going to nitpick. It usually wasn’t any deeper than her thigh out in the middle.) "Well, I mean, there’s a newer footbridge a little up stream, for when getting my feet wet wasn’t part of the appeal. But I dunno. It’s odd, but kinda adds to the place’s character, don’t you think? It feels more rural, even though it’s tucked in between big neighborhoods." She shook her head. Urban planning priorities had certainly shifted between then and now. "Who knows, maybe it was historical restrictions." She paused to incline her head towards a path at the edge of the clearing. "There’s literally a hole in the ground down that trail with a sign about how there used to be an icehouse there a couple hundred years ago."

"You mentioning the historical sign makes me wonder what the tour signs will say in another hundred."

"Right?" Rebecca sighed, trying to shove away the thought of how many would be mass grave memorials. Things had been going pretty well recently, but thinking back to the sheer calamitous scale was still a huge abyss to stare into.

Sam realized she’d turned the conversation sour, and was clearly contrite. "Sorry. I didn’t mean to dampen the mood."

"It’s okay, Rosie." Rebecca glanced over at her affectionately, a little entertained at how out of place the tactical helmet and body armor looked on her girlfriend after several weeks of the quiet life. She probably looked about just as much the part herself, come to think of it.

Sam gave her a little lopsided grin that spoke wordless volumes, then looked back over her shoulder. "Come on, sugar. It looks like everyone else is here. Let’s go do what we’re here to."

**

Rhonda quickly organized a perimeter, though with far fewer instructions than Rebecca would have expected — probably because of having subordinates to delegate to, and the proper training most of the group had received in a past life. Golf Zero and One soon trundled back down the way they’d come, headed in a wide loop around to the major intersection nearest the far end of the apartment complex and rear entrance to the National Guard compound. It didn’t escape Rebecca that Ronnie seemed to be giving orders to the guy riding "shotgun" in Golf One — but she wasn’t sure if it was a rank thing, or a comparative competence evaluation after the shootout earlier in the morning.

Lance Corporal Epstein was left in command of a small detachment guarding the vehicles, while the bulk of their group leapfrogged the creek at both crossings and spread into the woods northwest of the road. The girls lingered several yards behind the professionals in their skirmish line, within easy sight range of Ronnie, and about twenty feet to the left of Patrick and Chris. At least the ford where the road crossed through the creek was only an inch or two deep — with any luck, there wouldn’t be anyone with soggy feet because of her.

At that thought, she couldn’t help glancing across the mostly uniformed backs ahead, some with name patches or Sharpie scrawl on the back, some of those growing gradually familiar. She really hoped nobody got hurt because of this excursion, all starting with a silly notion of poking through her apartment for whatever may or may not still be there. Yeah, there were the solar panels, and if that paid off, they’d be a big benefit to the community, so that made the effort and risk worthwhile. Still, she knew she’d be able to find plenty of ways to trace blame back to herself when push came to shove… and that Sam would have a lecture ready. She might as well skip ahead to accepting it and focusing on the moment. 

Rebecca wasn’t sure if Sam could sense her thoughts, or just somehow picked up on her posture change as she got her game face back on, but Sam glanced over for a brief moment of eye contact, and gave her a quick encouraging nod. Rebecca could hear the "You got this, sugar" echoing in her head from the briefing, and returned the gesture.

Her SMG’s effective range was shorter than the rifles of the soldiers in front of her, so she only kept it at a low ready, but she swept her eyes from shadow to shadow, and even paused to scan behind them twice as they moved in an arc around the apartment development. The trees here were probably clearcut and replanted decades ago, so the underbrush was passable and their advance fairly easy — except for the odd uneven incline or muddy hollow.

Eventually, she noticed the wings of their line curling back, the outermost individuals slowing and turning outwards, watching the fringes of the forest towards both her old apartment building and where she was starting to see a stretch of overgrown cyclone fence with bulky shadows beyond it. The gradually stretching peninsula shape stopped when Ronnie gestured for a halt, leaving a slightly denser perimeter at the tip, and gestured the two pairs of civilians forward.

"You kids ready?"

Rebecca glanced quickly at her three friends, then looked back to Ronnie. "Good to go, Gunny." She didn’t want to be too informal and undermine Ronnie’s authority.

Rhonda nodded curtly. "Good. Remember the plan. Second squad’s going to sweep the other floors of your building, and then covering Third when they advance to clear the building opposite so we can bring the trucks up."

"Yup, and we listen to any orders from Three Two even though we’re not officially in that squad." Now that they were on foot, Rebecca had caught on to switch from vehicle call signs to infantry organizational units.

"Right." Rhonda gestured to the man two to her left. "Davis is Second squad’s leader. He’s been briefed on your objective and the building layout."

Rebecca nodded in greeting to the African-American man in his late twenties. Glancing at his arm, she saw only a single chevron, meaning he was only a private or maybe a PFC. But, given gaps in the command ranks, it wasn’t too surprising to see him filling a role that would have normally been assigned to a corporal or sergeant. Heck, even Epstein leading the vehicle squad was probably operating above his theoretical pay grade. "On your go, sir."

She wondered for a moment if that would make a good impression or come across as trying too hard, but Ronnie’s voice chased the debate away. "Second and Echo, move out. Stay focused, stay safe."

Davis led eight men and four women forward from the line, with Rebecca’s group spaced out behind him, just left of center. The group halted just shy of the treeline, and he waved her forward. Rebecca knelt next to him and lifted one earmuff away on its hinge.

"Miss Clinton, I hear you have keys?" Oh my. If she wasn’t firmly attached to Sam and in the middle of an op, that nice baritone would have gotten a lot more of her attention. But, focus.

"I do. Same one will open the back door and both stairwell doors."

"Okay. We’ll cover as you open the back door, but then we’ll need to get both stairwells open."

She fished her keyring out of her pocket, tucked her SMG between her raised thigh and torso, and started working a specific key off of the split ring. "Okay. I can open the near side and then pass it off? My apartment’s closer to that side of the building.

"That’ll work. I’ll take it from you then lead two fire teams up the other stairwell for the even-numbered floors. Do you think your key will work across the street?"

"No, I’m pretty sure it won’t. Sorry…"

He glanced back over her shoulder to another group arrayed behind them. Third squad, she supposed. "Eh, that’s fine. They’ll figure it out. You ready?"

Rebecca nodded, feeling a prickle of apprehension that only made her more motivated to rip the bandaid off and see what the next short while held for her. "Let’s get this show on the road."

Private Davis ordered Second squad forward, under the watchful guns of Third covering them and scanning the windows of the facing apartments. The unkempt stretch of lawn between the building and trees wasn’t very far, but it was still a nerve-wracking scamper across open space that Rebecca didn’t enjoy. Too bad there wasn’t a nice service tunnel or something to creep through. But, before she knew it, she was leaning against the wall next to a steel fire door with a wire-reinforced window, carefully sliding the detached key into the lock, twisting it, and sidling away as the first few team members slipped through the door. Sam and Chris were stacked up against the brick facade wall behind her, with Patrick bringing up the end. When the first two fire teams were fanned out through the garage, Davis gestured with a head tilt and moved through the door. Rebecca followed, and was doubly dismayed by what she saw after the short hallway. The tenant storage cabinets were all wrenched open, remaining contents strewn about or spilling into the garage. Also, she recognized one of her neighbors’ cars still there, clearly unmoved for the last several months.

Damn. Janet, the girl in 302, had been pretty nice. Rebecca really hoped she’d made it to safety some other way, and the obvious looting of the garage didn’t make her optimistic about what she might find upstairs. But, things were in motion and there was nothing to do but press onwards, so she led her friends to the nearest stairwell door, repeated the process of opening it for the first fire team, and passed the key to Davis.

Sam knelt down behind her as the lead group went through and started up the stairs, and Rebecca turned her head to mumble back over her shoulder to her. "I really hope there aren’t any bodies."

She the movement of Sam nodding in her peripheral vision. "Yeah. Do you have your mask?" Rebecca shook her head, turning further to look back at Sam wistfully. Rebecca could tell that Sam hoped the small grin she gave her was encouraging. "Well, fingers crossed."

They were turned back to business by radio traffic from the team above. "Three-two-one. West stairwell clear to first floor." (Rebecca had to stifle a chuckle at the call sign for Third Platoon, Second Squad’s first fire team… but it lightened her spirits a little.)

That was their cue. Rebecca lifted the P90 to her shoulder and went through the wedged-open door, aiming up the narrow open center of the shaft. They had a different call sign since they weren’t really part of the reconstituted military structure. "Echo, moving up the stairs."

Other radio traffic indicated the teams at the other end of the building were on the move, slightly behind the western teams because of the delay unlocking the east stairwell door. The second fire team reached the second floor just after her group passed it, then it was her turn to report progress again, pushing the transmit key for her radio. "Echo, entering third floor."

She took a deep nervous breath, and felt Sam pat her shoulder while Chris watched the stairwell above and Patrick kept an eye on their flank. "We’re here, hon."

Rebecca felt hearing Sam’s voice dull the edge of her anxiety, and Sam noticed her boots shift to a more confident position before Rebecca rose and led the team onto her old floor.

The stairwells had windows in them, letting natural light in… but the interior hallway wasn’t as dark as she expected it to be. On top of the light coming in through the open fire door to the stairwell, it was illuminated by indirect ambient light from a few open apartment doors. After a moment’s pause, Rebecca shifted her grip to turn on the P90’s light, deciding that she’d be visible either way, and it was better to blind someone in the dark than be silhouetted against the open doorway.

Nothing bad happened, no one jumped into the hallway to attack them, and the air smelt musty, a little like an old dumpster, but not like a charnel pit like that one parking garage she blundered into back in the day. She breathed a little easier, and stepped into the rehearsed plan they’d practiced together.

They’d agreed they’d clear any open apartments they passed, and at least peek under any locked doors with the flexible camera that connected to the displays on Rebecca and Sam’s forearms. They didn’t expect so many of the doors to be open, but at least the floor was silent, the only dust in the air starting to stir with their movement. The doorframes of apartments 301 and 302 were splintered inwards, kicked or pried open long ago. Sam followed Rebecca into 301 as she crept forward, Christine kneeling only a foot into 302’s entry hall, aiming her shotgun into the room beyond, while Patrick watched the hallway with his carbine.

Rebecca had been into many empty residences by then, growing a little inured to the discomfort of sifting through the remains of someone else’s life, but those were always strangers. These were the homes of people she was acquainted with, at least enough to smile to in the hallway or chat with in the laundry room. To give cookies at Christmas the year before things went to shit. Some of that chill came creeping back into the edges of her consciousness, like the shadows around her flashlight beam. Her mouth was dry as she quietly confirmed each room or angle she checked was clear and Sam replied in kind.

Parts of the apartment looked like they must have a year and a half ago, pictures on the wall, TV remote on the coffee table, a razor on the bathroom sink. Other parts of the same rooms looked no better than the garage - refuse strewn in some corners, cupboard doors hanging open and the shelves bare, drawers and closets tossed. Rebecca fumbled for and drank heavily from the straw tube running over her shoulder from the water pouch in her small backpack, the water slaking her anxiety as much of her thirst. Sam waited patiently and wordlessly, letting Rebecca take a moment before they moved on to 302.

Christine pivoted after they passed her, angling the shotgun to not sweep the muzzle across them, and aimed herself generally towards the door they’d come in, watching Patrick’s back as he shifted across to 301’s door so he could aim his gun down the hallway from deeper cover. 

302 was worse, because she’d known the resident a little better. Rebecca was glad she hadn’t walked in on a body, but still, Janet was just gone, and here was all her stuff, picked through by someone else. It was a little detail that really got to her, seeing half of a lilac bra dangling out of a top dresser drawer. That really drove home looking through a departed person’s private remnants, and her face fell and shoulders sagged.

She felt Sam sidle up next to her, vigilantly facing the opposite direction, but making a point to bump up against her. "Remy… stop seeing their stuff. Don’t look that deeply. Make sure there’s no badguys and keep up your momentum."

Being told what to do helped. She loved and trusted Sam, and could push herself to shut up and do what Sam said to. She took a deep breath and felt a warm flush of gratitude, refocusing her attention on the whiff of Sam’s lightly floral deodorant she caught, and the proximity it demonstrated. "Thank you, Sam."

"Of course. Ready?"

Rebecca nodded, and as she felt Sam move away, backed up in step with her, watching their flank as they moved back out of the apartment. Don’t see the stuff. Just see the room, the furniture as shapes. No movement, nobody there. Almost to her place.

They moved through 303 and 304 well enough, Rebecca pushing back on her awareness and keeping her emotions distanced. But they paused, perplexed, when they reached Rebecca’s door. The doorjamb was just as splintered as the rest around the knob, but the door was closed, held tight by the separate lock above it. Rebecca frowned in confusion, gesturing for Patrick and Christine to sweep 305, and then ducking into that apartment’s entryway with Sam behind them.

Sam spoke first, tone hushed. "What the heck?"

Rebecca shook her head, still puzzled. "I dunno. I guess we didn’t lock that when we left, and then somehow it relocked after the looters came? Jaime and I used to bicker about that, he’d always leave it open."

"Well that’s counter-stereotypical. But okay… so two different someone-else’s have been in there. Question is… when."

"Yeah." Christine came up behind her and whispered that the place was clear, and Rebecca reached for her radio key with her left hand, talking quietly. "Echo One. 301 through 305 clear. 306… potentially occupied."

"Echo One, Three Two Six. What are your intentions?" Davis’ voice came back in her ear.

"We need to clear the buildings anyway so we can move on to the armory."

"Copy. Proceed with caution."

She knew Ronnie would be listening too, and would be thinking the same thing at her. "Affirmative."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This next chapter is only minimally proofread, but since an encouraging comment was just posted on the previous chapter, and I figure people can use everything to read they can get their hands on right now, here's the rough cut of what's next! I'll likely edit it retroactively when I finally go back through on a proofreading pass.

Rebecca knelt at the side of her own apartment door, carefully extracting the tip of the flexible "snake" camera from under it while her friends covered her. Her peek hadn’t revealed anything obviously unusual inside, but at least she could confirm there wasn’t someone lurking just the other side of the door. 

She wasn’t entirely sure it wasn’t just procrastination, but she decided she’d feel better focusing on her apartment after checking the rest of the apartments on that floor. Maybe then they could linger without worrying about someone coming up behind them. She gestured that idea to the others, who nodded and followed her lead without just like Ronnie told her they would.

307\. 308. 309. 310. Everything down the hallway was the same, all the way to 316. Doors smashed in, rooms all clear, not much useful left inside. Certainly nothing food or survival related. Rebecca sighed and called that in, and then they crept back along the unsettling hallway. Rebecca briefly compared it to some kind of alternate reality in a horror movie, and mentally facepalmed when she realized how apt the notion was.

Setting up back at 306’s door again, she took one more quick look with the camera, stowed that away, and held her key up just in front of the lock. She glanced at Sam once, both to confirm she was ready and for reassurance, and slid the key forward into the lock as quietly as she could, turning it, and pushing the door open… lifting up slightly as she did to keep the hinge from squeaking, just like she did every time she came home late a world ago.

The first thing she noticed was that the curtains were open. Then, her brain clicked through a handful of other things — some "wrong" in contrast to the rest simply because they were how they used to be. That was definitely her couch, and one of the chenille end pillows from Target, but that wasn’t her blanket tossed over the back. The right shelves under the window, but they’d been swapped. The place was tidy, but not how she left it.  
A whispered "What the…" escaped before she could stop herself, and she bit her lip in self-admonishment as she took another step into the entry hall. Bathroom would be on the other side of the wall her to right, kitchen behind the wall on the left where a picture of the view from Edinburgh Castle still hung. As she neared the end of the hallway, she could see most of the apparently unoccupied bedroom at an angle through its door. But as she pivoted left to pan her view into the kitchen as she cleared the wall carefully, she heard a slight scuffle of movement and trained her sights on a scared-looking couple brandishing one of HER frying pans and chef knives.

She was almost as startled as she was, jumping slightly, but her appearance was probably more menacing. The girl raised her hands slightly, open-palmed, so the knife wasn’t pointed at Rebecca anymore, and the guy’s eyes widened and he took a half step back. 

"Oh Jesus, please don’t hurt us…" The young woman, in her twenties with light-skin and frizzy brown hair, was terrified. Rebecca lowered weapon slightly, relaxing her tightly hunched posture, which raised her face above the obstructing front of her weapon, and the girl blinked. "Oh… I recognize you. You’re the girl in the pictures. Sorry… if this is your place, we… "

The words jolted Rebecca’s consciousness like she’d fallen into cold water. "If this is your place." Exactly what she’d heard Jaime say around the corner of a hotel kitchen as he must have been staring down the barrel of a gun, and now here she was hearing it, holding the gun.

She stammered a little as she tried to reply. "I… it’s okay. Uh… that sweatshirt looks a little familiar." She took a step back and lowered her gun a little farther, and saw Sam do the same. The girl reached behind her to put the butcher knife down on the counter, then glanced down at the hoodie she was wearing and plucked at it self-consciously.

"Oh god, this is awkward. I’m sorry, you can have it back. This was just the only apartment in the building with a working lock, so we thought it would be safe. We didn’t know anyone would come back. I mean, we knew it was a possibility but there’s so few people left… oh no. Are you going to make us leave?"

"Please, at least let us pack some things." The guy behind her put the pan down on the stove with a scrape and held his hands out in supplication.

Rebecca lowered her gun the rest of the way to a relaxed carry. "No, it’s okay. I live somewhere else now. We just came back looking for a few things, I’m not going to kick you out."

The female squatter sighed and clasped her hands in front of her. "Oh, thank you. I… I think I remember some mail on the floor addressed to Rebecca. Is that you?"

Rebecca nodded. "Yup. But if you want to pick up the rest of the lease, that’s okay as long as you pay the utilities too." Sam and the other couple chuckled, a little of the tension draining out of the room.

"I’m Monica, this is my boyfriend Alan." Rebecca made eye contact with "Alan" and nodded at him in greeting with a little half-smile as "Monica" continued. "Like I was saying, we came here looking for, well, you know. Anything useful, and we found all the doors open, but your door still had an intact lock. I guess the top one wasn’t latched when you left?"

Rebecca shook her head and smiled wistfully, glancing down for a moment. "No, I suppose it wasn’t. You can thank my lovable dope of… of a boyfriend for that." Her sigh was leaden, and Monica picked up on the implication.

"Oh… I’m sorry."

Rebecca looked back up. "Yeah. Thanks…" She wasn’t about to get into detail, and could leave the topic at that. "Look, I took most of our survival-y stuff when we left." She started to look around a little, but without turning away from these new people. She was trying to be reassuring, but wasn’t an idiot. At least she hoped not. "I was just hoping to get some sentimental items, some odds and ends."

"Oh, of course. The place was a mess like the other apartments when we got here, so we had to clean up. I felt a little weird having pictures of strangers up, but also couldn’t just throw them away, so those are all tucked behind the couch there. And, I put some of the things from your room in a box, it’s in the closet. I can show you?"

Rebecca smiled. "That would be great."

Monica was clearly relieved that Rebecca was being so calm about everything. "Okay! Alan, can you get those pictures out for her?"

He nodded from behind her, and then crossed behind Monica as Rebecca stepped back from the kitchen and towards the bedroom. Not "her" bedroom anymore, a couple of different ways, but whatever. Sounds like some of her stuff was still here at least. Sam smiled at her on the way by, and started to follow Alan deeper into the living / dining "room" open area.

Monica was stooped over with her head in the closet when Rebecca came into the bedroom, and turned around with a good-sized cardboard box with the top folded closed. "Here, this is all the personal-seeming stuff that we put away. Uhm… the jewelry’s in a ziplock bag in the top dresser drawer if you want it. The rings wouldn’t fit, and we didn’t know if we might have to trade it or something."

Rebecca nodded, and slid her backpack off and set it on the foot of the bed. "Thanks. I appreciate it. Here, we have more of these, you can have it." She fished a folding solar charger out of the larger pouch, along with the USB cables and an adapter to charge a couple of regular batteries at a time.

Monica stepped carefully around Rebecca to open the dresser drawer and pass her the bag of jewelry. "Oh. That’s really awesome of you, I mean, you could just take whatever you wanted at gunpoint." Rebecca was entertained that she seemed to be making a point of moving slowly and predictably.

"We’ve run into some people like that already. We’re trying not to be that way, and it doesn’t seem to work out well in the long run, you know?"  
"Yeah. I guess that makes sense. Live by the sword and all that."

Rebecca unfolded the box top and poked around inside, most of the decorative trinkets she was looking for were in there, along with some clothes that didn’t look like they’d fit on Monica. She could hear Sam and Alan’s voices murmuring in conversation in the next room. "I saw some books on the shelf, some familiar and some new. I’m hoping to grab a few of those too."

"Sure." Monica sat sideways on the far edge of the bed. "There might be a little more wear on them than when you left, it’s… kinda hard to find things to entertain ourselves these days."

Rebecca chuckled. "Yeah, so much for Netflix. I’ll try to leave you with some decent reading."

"Again, thank you. Is there anything else specific you’re looking for?"  
Rebecca sighed again, but thoughtfully this time, looking around. "I mean, not much else specific. My laptop?"

"Oh, yeah. I guess if you’ve got something to charge with, that’ll actually work again. I think it’s buried under the bed. I can dig it out while you look around?"

Rebecca smiled. "Thanks."

"Uh-huh!" Monica slid off the end of the bed onto all fours and started tugging things out… Rebecca saw a couple of her old power strips and extension cords get tossed on top of the bed, followed by her old PS4. Hmm, maybe she’d grab that for Nate in case they ever had enough power to spare. She supposed that if Monica was going for a weapon, it would have been somewhere more accessible like the nightstand or dresser drawer, and peeked into the closet for a moment or two, tossing her favorite cardigan onto the box, and then stepped into the bathroom.

The shower and tub area were dark, absent a window — that was the one thing she never liked about the apartment floorplan, there was no natural light or ventilation in there, and she was relegated to a single ceiling light and noisy exhaust fan. But, the vanity counter and sink outside of the water closet was lit enough by light from the window, and backscatter from her still-on flashlight, that she could see herself in the mirror.

Now THAT was weird. Sure, she’d seen her reflection in mirrors and windows lately, but… this was back where her life had been normal, and now here she was looking at a totally different her. She knew her face and arms would be more tanned if she could see the color accurately enough in this light. The same girl as usual looked back at her, but looking so incongruous clad in body armor and wearing a black tactical helmet that she still hadn’t gotten used to seeing herself in even in the rear view mirror of a Humvee.

She leaned closer, looking at the irises of her eyes… those hadn’t changed… and reaching up to toy with a strand of hair that had escaped the confines of her helmet. Jaime had always called it "honey walnut", making a joke out of their affinity for Mr. Tse’s restaurant. The ends were definitely lighter than the original color farther up above her ears, fading in a gradient from where the bleaching summer sun had touched up into what had grown in as the days shortened. She smiled at the memory, noticing how that brought out a few more creases at the sides of her eyes than it used to… and heard the harsh sounds of a scuffle from the living room, and the sound of Sam’s voice angrily swearing.  
Rebecca’s smile vanished as she spun, hands returning the P90 and raising it to sweep across "Monica", if that really was her name, at the other side of the bed, before ramming the bedroom door back against its stop and storming into the living room. Rebecca registered Sam upright and the direction she was aiming her raised Vector, and snapped her aim to match Sam’s at Alan on the couch. Her eyes glanced up to Sam then back down her sights, then she took another two steps into the room and turned to place her aim halfway between him and Monica where she stood in the doorway looking perplexed and scared. At least that looked genuine. She could heard a confused "… the fuck?" from Patrick in the hallway followed by him urging Christine to keep an eye on the hallway, so she knew she could focus on the room.

Okay. So then, yes, the fuck? Monica seemed to understand she really shouldn’t move, and had her hands open half raised again, so Rebecca spared a glance to Sam again. Her eyebrows were lowered, her jaw was clenched tight and forward, and Rebecca spotted a bright red drop of blood at the near end of her lower lip. "Sam?!?"

The tension in Sam’s voice lowered from hot to simmering as she spoke. "I went over to look at some of the books and he tried to grab my gun."

Monica’s voice briefly drew Rebecca’s aim half in her direction again, before she locked back on to Alan. "Al? What the hell?"

Alan was half-slumped in the couch, clutching his side with one hand and face with the other. Rebecca knew Sam’s small size belied the fact that she could be a real hellcat in a fight, which she was very grateful for in the moment. "I just thought… if we had one, things would be easier for us…"

Monica’s outrage seemed genuine as she railed at him. "You fucking dumbass. Neither of them was doing anything aggressive. Look at how well equipped they are. And look, they have friends in the hallway! Did you stop to consider maybe they didn’t come alone? What’re they going to do now? Rebecca, please, I didn’t… "

She didn’t parse the rest of Monica’s plea, it seemed distant compared to the surge of emotion welling up inside her. The memory of a hotel kitchen rushed back to her, holding Jaime in her lap and bawling her soul out over him, his blood all over her. So much blood. And now this asshole could have taken Sam from her too. Not her, and not again goddammit. She was so stupid, outside of the room again, just like last time. This shit ends… nobody’s taking…

"Remy… REBECCA! STOP! I’m fine! Don’t! He’s not a threat anymore." Sam’s increasingly strident voice, and atypically using her full name, finally tore Rebecca’s attention back, and she realized she had moved two steps towards Alan’s increasingly terrified form on the couch, that her finger had shifted to the trigger of the P90, and was dangerously close to putting enough pressure on it to pull it past its "break" point. Sam had moved laterally to get closer to her, and was fumbling to reach under her gun with her left hand to grab Rebecca while keeping her own gun aimed at Alan, but was hampered by the corner of coffee table keeping them apart.

(Later, Rebecca would also realize she’d heard a muffled "Oh shit…" from Patrick in the hallway.)

"Rebecca. Please. Listen to me, don’t. Not here, not now, not for me." Sam’s words were practically falling over each other out of her mouth now. "I know he’s stupid but I’m okay. If you just kill him, we… we might be done. Please don’t."

Rebecca blinked twice quickly, then once more and let out several ragged but slowing breaths she didn’t know she’d been holding. Oh god. She’d almost just executed this dumbass, and that scared the shit out of her. She eased her finger out of the trigger guard and stepped back. This put Monica back in her peripheral vision again — dammit, that was careless in her rage — and Rebecca could see her hands over her mouth as she choked back a sob. Dear god. She was as bad as the guy who shot Jaime.

Sam got close enough to get her hand on Rebecca’s left forearm and pull her aim downwards. "Honey. Easy. It’s okay." Then, her chin shifted against the Vector to direct her voice over her shoulder. "Pat. Come cover this dumbass. Monica, I’m sorry, but get over there with him." She bobbed the muzzle of the Vector an inch to urge her towards the couch.

Rebecca was still shocked over what just almost happened, but responded to Sam’s physical contact. She took a few more breaths and lowered her gun further, whispering a shaky "Okay."

Sam patted her arm, then moved her hand back under the clumsy one-handed hold she had on her Vector over it to reach her radio. "Echo Two. 306 secured, two civilians. We’ll be leaving shortly."

"Copy, Echo Two." Davis’s voice answered back in Rebecca’s ears, further reminder of the world outside the room her awareness had abruptly contracted to. As Patrick stepped forward alongside them, she let Sam pull her back and guide her into the bedroom as Monica complacently sat on the couch, where she punched Alan’s arm pretty hard.

"See? They’re talking on a radio. I TOLD you they had friends with them, and they sound like professionals."

Sam maneuvered Rebecca past the doorway and out of view, then placed her hands on both sides of Rebecca’s face, caressing her with the exposed fingertips beyond her gloved palms. "I’m okay. You shoulda seen the other guy." That brought the hint of a smile to Rebecca’s face, which Sam returned. "Hey, there’s my girl. You had me scared you were going to go full Hulk in there." Rebecca apologetically raised her hand to touch one of Sam’s and tilted her head into it, looking closer at Sam’s lip when she opened her eyes again. 

Sam moved her fingertips gently again. "It’s okay. It’s just a little bump. He didn’t even do it, the stock of my gun whacked me in the mouth as we tussled over it. I promise, he’s going to have a real good black eye later."

Rebecca finally spoke. "Ronnie’s gonna be proud."

"Yeah. We have a good teacher. Are you okay?" Sam still had her hands on Rebecca’s cheeks and was looking into her eyes searchingly.

"I mean, no, but… I’m functional.""Okay. Good. I can work with that. What’re we taking with us? The box there?"

"Yeah. And the books we were talking about before, and any of the pictures we want."

"Oooh, goodie. Before dumbass in there tried his shit, I found one this one picture of you in a volleyball uniform… so damned cute. Was that high school or college?"

Rebecca laughed quietly, and probably blushed a little. "College, I wasn’t on a team or anything before."  
Sam seemingly confirmed Rebecca’s suspicion she was blushing with a giggle and a wink at Rebecca, accompanied by a click of her tongue. "Let’s get out of here and go shopping for some shiny solar panels, okay? Maybe some fun surplus military hardware. Who wants a new bipod, huh? Whooo wants one?"

Rebecca laughed again, which turned into a sigh, and she leaned forward to clunk her helmet against Sam’s. "Okay. I’m sorry I lost it in there."

Sam leaned in and gave her a carefully lopsided light kiss. "That was scary a couple of different ways, but you didn’t lose it, or me. I’m here."

"Okay." Rebecca took another deep breath, then looked down at the box on the bed. She shoved the cardigan and laptop carelessly through the top flaps, and shifted her P90 to get her pack on and pick it up with both hands. The solar charger on the bed caught her eye for a minute, but… Monica seemed okay after all. Her boyfriend was a dipshit, but… that wasn’t entirely her fault. Sam was a good reminder that anybody who had someone these days was pretty lucky. So, she’d leave it behind despite everything.

Monica was just finishing telling Alan to keep his mouth shut as they returned to the front room, and looked up to Rebecca and Sam sheepishly. "Rebecca, and.. sorry.. you didn’t mention your name. I’m really sorry. Please, take whatever you want, and thank you for not hurting him. I mean, more than he deserved." Monica glanced back at where Alan was clinging to apparent injuries, a glance that turned into a well-shot glare. "It’s been hard for us, but that doesn’t excuse his bad decision." Rebecca just silently nodded when Monica looked back to her.

Sam gingerly sucked a seeping dot of blood from her lip before it got big enough to drip as she was stuffing books from the shelf into a reusable grocery bag from the kitchen. "Boys can be dumb." She glanced back at Rebecca, intending to continue nudging her with humor. "That’s why she’s with me."

That gave Monica something to blink quietly at for a few seconds as Sam finished picking through the last row, and the room settled into awkward silence as she moved to the other shelf, circling behind Patrick and his gun. Rebecca finished mulling over a few thoughts and spoke up when Sam was halfway done.

"I know it’s rough out here. If you need help… or to find people to connect with… look for the big overpass on Broadway. There are okay folks there. The boss might actually get along with Alan there. He just better not do any more stupid shit, and damned well better not try to steal anything." She gave him a brief disdainful squint. "I don’t live there these days, but… if I saw him again, I might have to feed him to my dog."

Monica nodded. "I understand. Thank you. Again, I’m sorry. You were being very cool about things before he did that. I’m sorry we didn’t deserve it."

Rebecca made a bit of a sour face. "Well, you were doing okay."

"Yeah. Really, I’m sorry. He… he’s been good to me, I swear. He just wasn’t thinking clearly."

Rebecca nodded. He was a dumbshit, but she admitted she didn’t know what he’d been like or done for Monica before today. It was up to her if she wanted to keep dealing with him, especially now that Rebecca had given her an out. Hopefully he didn’t do something else stupid and get Monica killed.

Davis’ voice came on in her ear. "Three Six, Echo, this is Three Two. We’ve finished sweeping the rest of this building and are setting up overwatch hides to cover Third Squad’s advance."

Rhonda’s reply was a little crackly. "Copy, Three Two. Echo, sitrep please."

Ah crap. "Sitrep please" was Ronnie-speak for "WTF is going on, reply with specific code words that will indicate if you’re really okay or not." She must have thought it odd Sam made the last checkin, or heard something in her voice. Maybe both. Either way… Rebecca reached for her transmit button.

"Three Six, Echo. We’re good. Just about to exfil." If Rebecca had said they were "fine", Ronnie would have literally "called in the Marines", probably sending Davis’ entire squad to her floor and coming up the stairs herself with more. "Okay" would have led to her laying in wait for someone unfriendly to come out with Rebecca’s group, and ambushing the ever-living shit out of them.  
There was a second or two’s pause. "Acknowledged, see you soon. Three Six out."

Rebecca could tell "see you soon" was more a statement of expectation, or nearly an instruction. She looked at Monica one last time, trying to figure out how trustworthy she was.

"Monica, have you noticed anyone else around here? Living in the other building, or skulking through the woods?"

The seated woman shook her head. "No… only the occasional passerby looking around. That’s part of why we’ve stayed."

Well, Third Squad would find out soon enough if that was true. Rebecca wasn’t about to tell them the other building was empty and have them lower their guard… but at least Monica hadn’t said there was something over there she had to warn them about. That counted for something.  
As they left, Rebecca braced the box against the wall with her waist and pulled the key from the door, holding it open with her foot so Patrick could back out last. She looked down at the key for a moment as he moved past. She didn’t need it anymore, so she made eye contact with Monica, held it up, and tossed it in before letting the door close.

**

Rebecca sat on the first floor lobby, out of view of the front door, with her face in her hands. They still had however long it took Third Squad to clear the building across the street before anything else would happen. Her stuff was on and under the little coffee table between two armchairs across the lobby from the communal mailboxes, the other chair occupied by Sam. Christine had nudged Patrick away, maybe to ostensibly give them some space, but she could swear she could hear an occasional bit of noise that made her suspect they were taking the opportunity to make out in the laundry room around the corner. Like bunnies, those two were.

She sighed and lifted her head, unsurprised to see Sam watching her patiently, greeting her with a gentle tone.

"Hi cutie."

Rebecca smiled wanly. "Hey, babe."

"So… that seemed like more than just being protective up there, and you seem pretty shaken up afterwards. Do you want to talk about it?"

"You know, I was thinking about today for a while, trying to prep myself for it. But apparently that was all pointless, because it’s just full of surprises." Sam nodded, and waited for her to continue. "I came here ready to deal with some bittersweet recollections of good, normal times and the little bit of hurt they would stir up. But all that just now… fuck." She pulled her right glove off and ran her hand over her face again. "Poking through the remainders of people’s lives… that I knew at least a little bit… that was creepy."  
Sam nodded. "Yeah, I get that. It can be…"

Rebecca cut her off gently with a little hand wave. "That was handleable though. That’s not what got me."

"Oh. Okay, sorry. Go on."

"It’s okay." Rebecca smiled at Sam to reassure her. "So that stuff just added a little bit of baggage to the collection, maybe a carry-on. But some of the things she said right when we went in, and then the way I was in the next room and heard things go down…"

"Oh, shit." Sam knew some of the details that day, pieced together a bit at a time from scattered gentle conversations, enough to catch and connect the significance of that last bit.

"Yeah." Rebecca hung her head for a moment, then continued. "So there was that, which just kicked all my existing baggage wide open. The similarities really scared me. But then, when I realized how bad the fear aggression it drove me to was… god. Thank you for stopping me, Sam."

Sam just reached over and put a hand on Rebecca’s leg, above her kneepad and waited.

Rebecca smiled, but was still looking down at her feet, maybe a little ashamed. "Are we okay? We had that talk last year… about how you were worried about how you'd react to me killing someone in a gunfight.""And then we were in one, and I seem to recall we kinda saved each other’s asses."

"Yeah, and now I almost shot that unarmed dumbshit right in front of you just because I was all triggered. Pun not intended. And you said we might be…"

"Do you know what that makes you?" Sam waited for Rebecca to look up questioningly. "A lovely, feeling, vulnerable human who didn’t kill that dumbshit in cold blood."

"Or hot blood as the case may be. But… god. I was almost as bad as…" Rebecca paused to wipe a tear away. "… the guy who killed Jaime."

"Oh, damn." Sam sat back slightly, taking the weight of that thought in. "So that’s why you were extra shaken up afterwards."

"Mmm-hmm."

"Shit. Okay."

"I wouldn’t be surprised if I have nightmares about it. Standing over Monica with a gun as she’s holding Alan in her lap, in that fucking kitchen."

"Stop picturing that. Now. If you do have nightmares, I’ll be right there when you wake up." Sam rose… (heh. Rose. Like Samantha Rose… Rebecca’s mind could still divert for a good pun) … enough to kneel in front of Rebecca, lightly hooking her hands behind Rebecca’s neck. "I love you, sweetheart. You’re a good person. And I promise I will do my utter damndest to stick around with you and for you."  
Rebecca leaned forward to bump her forehead against Sam’s and rub the tips of their noses together. "If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were proposing."  
Sam chuckled heartily, almost menacingly. "And if I were?"

"I’d be trying to find a dress store and a seamstress that was still breathing."  
"And a baker?""Of course. But you don’t think Allie could manage a cake?"

Sam shrugged. "Maybe she could practice on one for Pat and Chrissie."

Rebecca couldn’t help a genuine little laugh and lifted her head upright again. "Oh, Rosie. How do you always know how to make me feel better?"  
Sam shrugged again, but more thoughtfully this time, and shook her head. "I dunno. I listen, I pay attention, I remember. If that doesn’t explain it, I guess maybe I’m just awesome."

"So very much so." Rebecca leaned forward to wrap her arms around Sam’s armor and hug her as best she could.

"Mmm." Sam slid her hands down around Rebecca’s upper arms, rested her cheek on her shoulder, and closed her eyes. They held each other for a few minutes, until Sam’s knees started to tire and she retreated to the chair with a contrite apology. Still, Rebecca felt better enough to poke around in the box while they waited, showing some of the items to Sam, telling her anecdotes about them.

That kept her mind off things until an unfamiliar voice identified itself as Victor Three Three over the radio and reported the building across the road was clear. It didn’t take Ronnie long to order most of the vehicles up from the park while Golf Zero and One remained at their intersection to wait for Cat, her crew, and the hopefully useful truck they’d corralled. 

Rebecca rose and sidled closer to the entrance to watch the street, up against the wall behind a pillar. Sam was next to her, holding her hand as their SMGs rested across their chests. They’d have to use the radio in the Humvee to contact Cat - their portable units could use the vehicles as long range repeaters, but they weren’t configured to do that with the civilian channels her roving band of nomads would be listening on.

Patrick and Christine appeared from the back hallway shortly, and Chrissie gave Rebecca an encouraging smile when she noticed she seemed to be feeling better. Ever the gentleman, Pat offered to help carry Rebecca’s stuff — she wasn’t quite ready to be separated from some of the mementos in the box again, so she compromised on letting him sling two of the three book bags over his shoulder while she did the same with the third and lifted the box, leaving Christine and Sam free to watch over them and open the door when the trucks started creaking to a halt outside. Adams had spotted them, and pulled up just in front the building so they didn’t have to walk far.

He looked back over his shoulder as they opened the tailgate and nodded affably when he saw them loading Rebecca’s belongings. "Maybe that’ll be a good sign for the rest of this outing!"

Rebecca decided not to get into what happened upstairs… fortunately, Sam answered with a quick "Fingers crossed!"

Perhaps she was trying to save her from social exertion — whether she intended to or not, Rebecca appreciated it and rested her fingertips on Sam’s forearm affectionately while closing the cargo lid with her other hand. That got an affectionate smile, and Rebecca’s attention focused on Sam’s mouth again. There was still a small visible bruise and a little swelling, but the blood had stopped welling from from the small split on her lip. Sam caught her studying and kicked her foot. "Stoppit. I’m fine!"

"Ugh, I’m just looking now that there’s enough light! Jeez."  
"Okay, fair." Sam glanced away from her. "Where do you think Ronnie is?"

Rebecca looked around too. "She’ll probably head down here after making sure the perimeter in the woods is to good enough for her."  
"God help them if it’s not. It’s interesting, seeing this side of her. I mean, she was definitely a good leader for us and the small teams back at Broadway, or helping us shape up the settlement when we moved over, but actual command…"

"Yeah, like… not just knocking heads, but actual management." Rebecca turned to rest her weight against the truck. "I wonder if that’s why she never went to OCS…"

"OC-what?""Officer Candidate School, I think… or whatever the Marine version of it is… was. You know, those jokes about sergeants yelling at people not to call them 'sir', because they work for a living."

"Ah." Sam put her elbows on the end of the sloped "trunk" and her chin in her hands. Even just in casual conversation, Rebecca noted how they were subconsciously watching each other’s back. "I guess that makes sense, my brother never wanted to get promoted into management out west, just wanted to be left alone to code stuff in peace."

Sam still only mentioned her brother periodically… Rebecca usually let her set the pace on that since there’d been no way to contact him. Just like her mom, and Sam’s parents… nobody really knew what happened to so many people in their old lives. Hoping for the best and fearing the worst led to a lot of not being sure if they really wanted to find out or not. "STEM runs in the family, huh?"  
"Eh, at least with him and me. We were kinda the nerdiest out of all the cousins and prior generation. Guess we were just both the left-brained kids of the clan."Rebecca looked over at the big cargo truck and saw Epstein talking to a couple of other soldiers, then turned her head halfway back towards Sam while still keeping an eye on their surroundings. "You know that theory grew to be regarded as kinda dated, right?"

"Oh, shut up. You were studying psych, not to be a neurosurgeon.""Hey, it wasn’t all just software. We had to understand the hardware the OS was running on too."

"Are you trying to talk nerdy to me because you’re stereotyping me? Or just showing off?"  
"Look, I knew enough to turn things off and on again or figure out if they had a 'safe boot' mode or something before turning to Google, okay?" It was nice to get a little of their usual banter in, it felt like taking the opportunity for a little "normal" while they could. Story of their lives lately, Rebecca supposed.

Sam gave her a coy look and her tone turned sultry for a moment. "Oh, sugar. I never said either of those was a bad thing." She grinned gleefully at the hint of color that brought to Rebecca’s cheeks.

Rebecca shook her head. "You’re incorrigible."

"You like it." Sam’s grin reached her eyes with a twinkle too.

"Yeahhhh." Rebecca sighed. "Yeah I do. What’s wrong with me." (She stuck her tongue out at Christine and Patrick, where they laughed at the latest episode of the Sam & Rebecca show from the curb.)

"I dunno. You’re the psychologist. Oh look, there’s Ronnie!"

That was totally cheating to get the last word in, but Rebecca admitted to herself that the flirting had improved her mood, probably just like Sam had meant it to. Incorrigible.

**

Rhonda emerged around the end of Rebecca’s former apartment building nearest the park and made her way down the hill, preceded by one trooper and flanked by two more. So, even she moved as part of a 4-soldier fire team… Rebecca wondered if she was part / in charge of First Suqd, or if that team was just its own separate command element or something. That would make Squadmore sense in a larger force though… 

Ronnie gave a few orders to the two men and one woman walking with her, and they peeled off at the bottom of the shallow grassy slope between the building and sidewalk. The woman beelined straight to Epstein and the cargo truck, while the two men looked to be circulating amongst the various escort vehicles. Rhonda nodded to Patrick and Christine as she passed, and approached Sam and Rebecca solo, rifle (and grenade launcher) slung in a relaxed low carry.

"Hey kids. How’d it go?"

Rebecca shrugged. "It… went. We got what was left of what I was hoping to, so that’s something."

"It sounds like there’s a story there. Problems with the squatters?" Rebecca sighed, and Sam turned the rest of the way around to face Ronnie fully.

"There was a bit of a tussle, one of them tried to take Sam’s gun. I feel like a dumbass about leaving her alone in the room like that while the girl was showing me where they’d boxed up my stuff. Everything seemed fine though!" Her voice rose in frustration, not defensiveness.

Sam chided her gently. "Sugar, I told you I’m okay. And you’re right, they seemed perfectly chill before that."

Ronnie’s voice was nonjudgmental, in that "yeah, something happened that maybe shouldn’t have but you’ll clearly learn from it" way. "Well, it seems to have turned out okay." (Her eyes scanned over Sam’s intact gear and lingered on the bruise on her lip."

"Yeah, you shoulda seen the other guy."

Sam’s mildly indignant facial reaction to this directed a loving accusation of plagiarism and line-stealing at Rebecca, but then she looked back to Ronnie. "Just like I said. And, as I said upstairs, he’s definitely going to have a black eye. I’m also willing to bet he’ll be pissing blood for a few days."

That got some respectful eyebrow arches and a few grim chuckles, but Rebecca’s was halfhearted, and Rhonda could read her face, seeing that she was still troubled. "We saw plenty of that amongst the populace in both Iraq and Afghanistan. Everything would seem fine, and you were trying to build good relations, but you never knew whose brother or cousin got killed in an airstrike because he was an insurgent or just a poor sucker in the wrong place or something like that. You never really knew when you could not be on edge all the time." She paused briefly. "Anyway. Red, can I have a few minutes to talk to your girl here?"

Since Rhonda had lapsed into informal nickname use for the moment, Sam followed suit, whether consciously or not. "Sure, Sarge. Don’t go too hard on her." Rhonda lifted her eyebrows briefly and quirked her mouth in noncommittal response as Sam pushed off the Humvee, glanced over at the cargo truck then back to Patrick and Christine, and made up her mind. "I’mma go talk to our head wrench over there about tools and notions about how to break down the solar stuff." She extended her elbow slightly to catch Rebecca’s on the way by in a small love tap.

Both of the other women watched her go for a moment (not the usual treat that the experience would be, in the looser and thicker work pants and with Rebecca’s mind so distantly elsewhere).

"Far more likely you’d be harder on yourself than me. You’ve got a good one there, kiddo." Ronnie’s tone was lowered, pitched to not carry much beyond Rebecca standing a few feet away.

"Yeah. Believe me, I know. And, I bet she predicted that first part too, and was saying that to me as much as you." She sighed and shifted her gaze from Sam’s back to the distant park road.

"So, what’s up? Why did she make the call in? Looking at you, I’m guessing it’s related to her fistfight somehow?"

Rebecca stopped herself from sighing again and changed it to just a slightly longer than usual respiration. "I almost lost it up there, Ronnie. Like, not breaking down in the middle of the scene, I mean losing it on the guy that tried to grab her gun. She kicked his ass and he was down for the count, but I was still inches away from putting lead in his face when she stopped me."  
Ronnie looked at Rebecca contemplatively, with a slight squint and a tilt of her head. "It’s good thing the two of you have been drilling so well. You know, it’s natural for you to be pretty protective, especially after what you’ve been through."

"No…" Rebecca shook her head emphatically. "It’s more than just that. For a minute there I was about to be on the other side of that, shooting that girl’s… heck, I dunno, we never confirmed if they were related or dating or what." She sighed and looked up at the sky for a moment. "Either way. I was a couple millimeters of finger travel away from being like the guy that killed Jaime."

A hint of a frown crossed Rhonda face. "Okay, I can see why that’s an upsetting thought. But first off, you have no idea what kind of asshole that guy was. He was probably a real shitbag, and you are definitely not. Second, you were driven by emotions that came from protecting Sam, pumped full of adrenaline. I’ve seen bad shoots before, believe me, sometimes from people you could totally see it coming from, others that were a surprise. But you are a far cry from that jackass. I think there’s a good chance you’d have stopped even if Sam didn’t intervene, and even if you didn’t, you’re not that."

Rebecca tried her very best to be convinced. "I dunno about if I’d have stopped, but the rest of it… yeah, I hear you."

"Even so, it didn’t happen. Look, we live too on the edge to dwell heavily on the near misses. You’ll get paralyzed staring into that abyss and lose your mind."

Rebecca sighed. "Yeah… if anybody would be credible telling me that, it’s you. Listen, I’ll be good and not hug you in front of all your subordinates here, but… pretend I did, okay?"

That convinced Rhonda that she was feeling a little better, or at least headed in the right direction. "Okay, kiddo. You ready to call your friend and get this show on the road?"

"Yes ma’am, let’s keep me from having the opportunity to sit and stew."

Ronnie nodded and gestured towards the front of the Humvee. "Well, you know where the radio is."

Ah, got it. Talking about feelings time was over and it was back to gruff bossy Ronnie. Okay. The routine was somewhat comforting, really, and Rebecca suspected Rhonda knew that perfectly well. There was something… convenient about her directness. It took a little getting used to, but she said what needed to, even if it was sappy and reassuring, and then moved on as soon as that was done. There didn’t need to be any sort of awkward backtracking from the sentimental conversation, just right down to business.

"That I do, boss. I totally hugged you." Rebecca mirrored Ronnie’s smirk and rolled into a turn, pushing her weight off of the Humvee’s rear. Adams nodded at her when she opened the front right door — she acknowledged his greeting as she sat halfway into the seat, her right foot still on the ground outside, and reached for the radio handset. A few button pushes later, she was transmitting on the right frequency through the tall whip antenna sticking up from the back of the truck.

"Phoenix, Phoenix, do you copy?"

It only took a half minute for Catherine to reply, a slight background hiss to her signal. "Hey, if it isn’t my best customer. You about ready for me to bring over my homework so you can copy it?"

Rebecca scoffed and chuckled for a moment before replying. "I seem to remember the copying being pretty reciprocal. But yeah, the pizza’s here if you wanna bring a bottle of wine with you."

"Sounds good, I can be there in around twenty minutes." There was a short pause. "Listen, we heard what sounded like a fuckton of gunfire and explosions in the distance a while ago. Was that you? Did you run into trouble?"

"Ahh… yeah. I guess you could say trouble ran into us. Listen, don’t be mad, but when you get here… there’s gonna be a bunch of military vehicles. They’re on our side, can you play nice?"

There was another pause, and Rebecca could imagine the disapproving faces Cat was giving her nomadic minions. "Shit, girl. You really do make friends everywhere you go, don’t you."

"There’s upsides, I promise. I can fill you in when I see you."

"Fine, fine. Listen, let your friends know some of our vehicles are armed, okay? I don’t want them getting trigger happy, especially after the ruckus we heard this morning. Tell them to look for that truck you wanted so they know it’s us."

"Armed?""Yup."  
"O-kaay. Play nice, alright?"

"Oh, I won’t start nothin’."

"I guess I’ll take it. See you in a bit."

"Roger that… Phoenix out."

Rebecca shrugged at Adams where he lounged as best he could in the spartan driver’s seat and rose to her feet. Ever so conveniently, Sam’s conversation with Epstein seemed to have wrapped up shortly after Ronnie finished talking to her, and she was only a few steps away from the Humvee when Rebecca stood.

'Hey you." Sam reached out for Rebecca with both hands, and Rebecca took them in hers. "Good talk?"

Rebecca ran her thumbs over Sam’s as she replied. "Of course, it’s Ronnie we’re talking about here. She could tell something was off and wanted to know about it. And to straighten me out enough to finish the job, I reckon."

"Mmm. Cat on her way?"

"Yeah, she said she’d be here in about twenty minutes."

"Sounds like just enough time to tell Ronnie and break into lunch. I think the adrenaline is making my body demand a refuel."

Rebecca squeezed Sam’s hands. "You really did kick his ass, huh?"

"Like a hunk of S7 steel through another bot’s aluminum shell."  
That made Rebecca chuckle. "You’re such a nerd. A deadly little nerd."  
"You love me." Sam displayed her trademark impish smirk.

"I do."

Sam’s grin broadened. "As you are so fond of saying, 'phrasing'. Go talk to Ronnie so I can eat already!"

Rebecca released Sam’s hands and started towards where Rhonda now talked to Epstein. "So YOU can eat… sure, okay."

She heard the laugh in Sam’s voice as she called after her. "You know you don’t want me hangry!"

**

Sam had indeed unpacked their lunches by the time Rebecca found her again under the shade of a tree with Christine and Patrick. She’d… probably waited to hear Rhonda’s radio orders for teams to rotate through whatever breaks they needed to take? The girls felt a little out-domesticated by the insulated steel containers of thick soup Patrick revealed, but swiftly bartered portions of the remaining bread loaf (that of course Sam had brought along) for half of one to dip the remaining bread in themselves. 

The primal little dose of social contentment helped Rebecca continue to breathe easier. Cat and her traveling horde hadn’t shown up yet, so she was sitting with her back against the tree and Sam leaning on her as best their armor would allow, while Chrissie lay on the grass watching clouds go by with her head in Patrick’s cross-legged lap. Rebecca let out a long, relieved sigh that made Sam look up.

"Feeling better?""Yeah, getting there. You know, I had a thought that you’re going to like."

"Oh? Go on…"

Rebecca let out a short chuckle, barely more than a forceful exhale. "If you like that picture of me in my college volleyball attire so much… you’re going to really want to get my laptop charged up."

The mischievous smirk was audible in Sam’s voice. "Oooh. Are there naughty pics from back in the day?"

"Hah! Maybe only by my mom’s standards." Rebecca paused to laugh a little and reminisce. "She took me to Thailand to celebrate getting through my first year of college. It was wonderful… the temples, the beaches… but she wasn’t ready for the ever-shrinking trends in swimwear. She almost had a heart attack when I took my sarong off to dive in, but… I finally managed to get her to take a few pictures with that amazing bay in the background."

"Hah. So you’re saying the 'freshman fifteen' did your figure some good?" Sam gave Rebecca a suggestive looking-over.

"No, no… you can thank grandma Miri… Miranda… for my one-quarter-Cuban pelvic geometry that you seem to appreciate so much." She teasingly rolled her eyes at Sam. "Anyway, I heard about it for days, and she made me promise to never post the pictures online. With that scenery though… I tell you, I felt like a model on a postcard or magazine cover."

"So I have my very own would-be Instagram travel 'influencer' girl?"

"Something like that. Are you gonna take me anywhere fun when the apocalypse is over?"

"Maybe, my credit card miles are probably all going to expire by then though. Did Jaime ever get to see? Sounds like they’d have made one hell of a dating profile."

"Yeah, but I never sent them, he only got to see on my computer after we got together."

"Mmm. Well, I’d like to join that exclusive club, so you bet I’m going to get that thing powered up again. The best I have to offer is a few pics in the Ren Faire outfit I specifically chose to show off my tattoo when it was new."

The radio interrupted their banter as Rebecca held one earmuff closer to listen as she smiled at Sam. "Well, I’d consider that an equitable trade. But let’s go see about those solar panels so you can work your miracles, huh?

**

Rebecca made her way to Rhonda’s side after the call from the crossroads announced Cat’s approach. She could tell Ronnie looked her over as she approached and seemed to approve of her mood, and returned the nod of greeting she got.

"Hey kid. Sounds like your pal came through.""Yeah, she might be a bit thorny sometimes, but even back when I knew her in school, she always delivered if she said she would. She might outright refuse to do something if she thought it was bullshit, but you’d know it, and if talked into it, she’d still follow through even if she wasn’t happy about it."

"I guess it can be good to have more than one kind of straight shooter around." Rhonda turned her head to look back down the approach road. When the unconventional convoy cleared the turn, the lead vehicle was one of those small flatbed trucks, like a big gardening service or small hauling company might use. The kind with a large pickup cab on the front, and a flat bed over the rear frame, bordered by slats or plywood walls.

Only in this case, the walls had either been replaced or augmented with metal sheets. The front bumper had an aftermarket brush guard on it, like cop vehicles or enthusiast 4x4’s… with extra metal plating welded or bolted on covering the entire front except for the cutouts around the headlights. Clearly they’d prioritized protecting the radiator and engine. It looked like metal flaps rested atop the cab, where they could swing down on crude, bulky hinges to cover the cab windows, which were already reinforced with segments of cyclone fencing over the windows — maybe to protect the glass from the armored slats, or thrown objects while the flaps were up. And, sticking up from the back on some kind of post was a distinctively military machine gun with steel plates on either side of it, providing cover for a gunner, at least in whichever direction they were pointing it.

Fortunately for everyone’s nerves, it was currently resting with the muzzle up in the air, and the guy behind it was hanging on to the gunner’s shield and the walls of the cargo bed to stabilize himself as the truck drove. Still, Rebecca heard some kind of noise — a sigh or maybe a hiss — from Rhonda next to her, followed by a quiet epithet. "Well, fuck."

"What’s wrong?" Rebecca wasn’t sure if she should be worried about something and frowned slightly.

"I just never thought I’d see a technical on US soil."

"A what?"

"Improvised fighting vehicle, usually a civilian pickup, modified with a heavy gun. Not usually with that much armor added on, but I guess she cares more about survivability than your usual warlord. I’m just glad there isn’t much leftover Soviet triple-A laying around."

Rebecca managed to derive that she meant anti-aircraft guns, not roadside assistance agencies. (She’d actually be pretty happy for the latter.) "And that if there were, at least it’s in friendly hands?"

"Yeah, this one anyway. I’m giving her the benefit on the doubt on how she procured that MG, but if she’s got one… worse people do too."

That wasn’t a pleasant deduction. "Ugh. Well… small favors, right?"

"Take what we can get, I guess. Given her fondness for authority figures… you up for doing the talking?"

"Yeah, of course." Rebecca took a step back from Ronnie and turned away to where her friends waited a few dozen feet away. 

Sam hadn’t been close enough to hear much of the conversation, but obviously had been watching Rhonda’s reactions. "Sarge isn’t too happy to see that kind of hardware rolling around, huh?"

"Nooope." Rebecca shook her head.

Patrick spoke up. "It’s not that much different than having a big gun on some sandbags at Broadway or the new buildings is it?"

"I think part of the problem is symbolism… but also maybe because that…." (Rebecca inclined her head towards the approaching caravan) "… can be used offensively. An emplaced weapon at our gates is hard to make anything other than defensive. It also raises the specter of more people doing the same thing." Her explanation elicited a nod and a chagrined expression from Patrick as he weighed the implications. Meanwhile, she looked to Sam. "You up for a chat with the neighbors?"

"Of course, sugar. I wouldn’t want anyone to try and steal away my tourism spokesmodel while I’m just standing around."

Rebecca chuckled, rolled her eyes, and shook her head lovingly. "You have nothing to worry about. I don’t think any of them can get my laptop going again."

Sam fell into stride beside her. "At least I know why you keep me around now."

"Fair trade for body heat, me thinks," Rebecca quipped back. They lapsed into amicable silence for the several yards to where the nomad scavenger convoy was slowing to a halt. The driver of the big armored brute looked familiar, so Rebecca exchanged nods with him as she went down the line looking for Catherine.

She found her two cars back in a lavishly, perhaps even opulently appointed Lexus, and heard the distinctive whine of an electric motor as it pulled up in front of her. Cat opened the driver’s door and stood, grinning at Rebecca’s quizzical raised eyebrow. "Hey, so I took a page out of your book and got a hybrid. Whaddya think?"

Rebecca looked it over, from the sparkly paint to the leather seats and fancy controls inside. "I think I don’t want to know what the sticker price was…"

"Ahh, don’t worry about details like that. If you ever want to borrow it for a spin, let me know, I also have a Mercedes hidden away for when we have more diesel than gas. 40-something miles per gallon! Well worth wasting a small fraction of that on the seat warmer the last few weeks though, I tell you." Cat’s grin was irreverent and cheshire-worthy. Rebecca was somewhat proud of the pun, but kept it to herself, along with any moral debates about scavenging for essentials or looting luxuries. Sure, they’d allowed themselves fancy kitchenware, comfortable furniture, and cozy blankets, but… those were a far cry from luxury cars. Still, Cat wasn’t hurting anyone to get them (assuming she was sticking to her original ways and promises to Rebecca) and they were otherwise just sitting around. Anyway.

Rebecca looked past Cat’s car to the truck behind her (which was followed by a pickup and a van) and its big boom. Apparently she’d found scrounged it from a big tree trimming service — the bucket arm was folded over the large enclosed back area a tree chipper would ordinarily spew into, and the whole thing was a verdant green, with bright yellow lettering on the sides proclaiming it originally was in the service of Anderson Arborists. Not the cable company truck that she’d had in mind, but… it seemed to suit their core need. "Thanks a bunch for finding that."

Cat turned to look at the truck over her shoulder, then back to Rebecca, still leaning on the open car door. "Yeah, it wasn’t too big of a problem. It had a pretty full tank, so depending on how much more of it you use, we might be able to just drain it to replenish what we used finding it and come out close to even." Cat was usually pretty straightforward in her dealings with Rebecca — as long as she and her people came out ahead, she didn’t look to set Rebecca and her community back. She was plain about her priorities, but perfectly open to mutually beneficial situations. Rebecca was willing to place a significant bet that Cat no idea what she had up her sleeve to tell her about though.

"Sure… well, if you do need a top-off for you troubles, that’s fine. I know you’re not keen on remnants of the old establishments, but… our new friends come bearing access to hundreds of thousands of gallons of gas, fuel oil, and all that."

Cat was rarely speechless, but that did it, at least for a few seconds before she recovered. "Holy. Shit. Where’d they pull that out of their ass? Were they hoarding it as shit went down?"

"So cynical." Sam’s little jibe easily came off as routine teasing, but Rebecca knew that their collaboration with Cat carried an additional cost of a little lingering insecurity on Sam’s part about Catherine being the first Rebecca had realized an attraction to. She’d admitted she knew rationally she didn’t have the least little thing to worry about after some very heartfelt attempts at reassurance by Rebecca — and after they’d essentially fed Sebastien to Cat as a willing but perhaps outmatched boy-toy — but the anxiety still lurked, and she felt bad about it sometimes. Maybe that led her to try to play off her slip-up further. "They found it, silly. Just like you and your resourceful little clan. Apparently it was at a pipeline distribution substation by the river."

"Huh." Cat tapped her chin thoughtfully with her other arm folded across her abdomen, attention to any slight stolen away by the revelation of new resource information. "We’ve been checking truck stops, big farms, whatever propane and gas stations didn’t already have 'sold out' signs all over them. Pipelines are something that bears more research. Maybe the county assessor’s office…" Cat’s voice trailed off as she clearly organized some mental notes for later, then she circled back to the present. "Well, if the pipelines were twenty feet off the ground, we’d have noticed them ourselves… so what fruit are you plucking with that contraption there?"

"A solar panel array just the other side of the woods. Way better than the random stuff we’ve scrounged up before. Sam’s…" (Rebecca took the opportunity to reach her hand out and brush her fingers against Sam like an innocent conversation gesture, but really to make a brief physical connection…) "… going to have a whole lot more to work with by the time we’re done!"

"Again, huh. You’re full of surprises today. Where are these, over at the National Guard office by the expressway? How do you know they’re still there?"

Rebecca pointed up. "Smile, you’re on camera. I mean, I don’t know where it actually is right now, but Ronnie’s pals have recon drones too."

Cat glanced down at the car, feigning self-consciousness. "Well. I guess I’m getting a lump of coal in my stocking. Worth it, though." She looked up at the buildings around them. "You been to your place yet?"

Rebecca made a sour face. "Meh. My old place. We got a few things. Couple squatters, seemed alright enough at first but the guy tried to take Sam’s gun. She kicked his ass."

"Really now?" Cat glanced Sam over with an appraising look — not much unlike the first time they met and Sam had set her jaw and didn’t break eye contact, all while maintaining a polite smile.

"Well, technically I head butted him in the face…" (Sam rapped her knuckles on her helmet) "… kicked his knee out from under him, and punched him in the kidney. But yeah, you know." She shrugged with exaggerated nonchalance.

Cat grinned, again with similar amused respect to last time around. "I always knew you punched above your weight, cutie."

Rebecca broke back in. "So… speaking of contraptions. What’s up with the beast up front?"

Rebecca wondered if Cat’s facial muscles ever tired of grinning, or if at some point her mom had been right and it got stuck that way. "Oh, don’t worry. It’s mostly a visual deterrent, and we looted the gun fair and square from a guard tower at an abandoned outpost. Seems like with the assholes you told us about last year wandering around, it can’t hurt to have a little firepower, right? Turns out Jessie’s a pretty good welder and we knew where to find a mostly full tank of acetylene, so, tada, battle wagon. Oh, and Sam, you’ll like this. The doors? Armored with phone books inside the panels. Literally right out of Mythbusters."

Sam quirked an eyebrow. "Huh. You’re not wrong, I am kinda impressed. But you know one phone book only stopped small arms fire in the actual episode, right? You need two for rifle rounds."

Cat frowned and look back at the truck, flipping some of her dark hair out of her face. "Shit. I guess we have some upgrading to do. Do you know how hard it is to find phone books this decade?"

"Auto parts store. Sure, people will have looted everything else, but I’m pretty sure they left the part catalogs behind."

Again, Cat paused thoughtfully. "Huh. You really are pretty damned smart. If Rebecca ever treats you wrong, you can come ride with us any time."

Sam blinked — and here she was worried about having Rebecca pilfered away from her, not the other way around. "Thanks… but I like my big warm stationary bed."

Rebecca was pretty sure there had been the tiniest hint of emphasis on "warm", and that it was likely a little signal to her. A verbal equivalent of the finger brush a minute ago, perhaps. "Yeah, and, uh, I kinda miss it right now, so maybe we should finish standing around yapping and get a move on, huh?" Cat shrugged and waved her hand in a "Well, lead on!" sort of fashion, and Sam stepped back and aside with a synonymous lifted eyebrow. So, Rebecca started to lead the two of them back towards where Ronnie waited with Epstein near the cargo truck. Along the way, Cat spoke up again.

"So… if Ronnie doesn’t like the truck with the gun… don’t let her look in the van in back."

"Uh, what? Why not?" Rebecca didn’t like the sound of that.

"It has another machine gun inside. It’s not as useful, it can only fire out of the side or rear door on its little track, but it makes a good spiked tail for the end of our convoys. That one, we actually didn’t make. The original owners weren’t very nice to other people, so now it’s ours and they’re not anyone’s problem anymore."

"Huh." Rebecca hoped Cat still wasn’t the sort to use a door gun in a drive-by (on anyone who didn’t deserve it, apparently) and decided to worriedly file that one with Patrick’s "sandbags" theory.

**

When Rebecca reported to her that they were ready to go, Rhonda ordered Third Squad down from the far building. They reinforced First in the woods and advanced on the perimeter of the armory compound, ready to cut through the chain link fence and push into the vehicle yard and administration building. Davis and Second Squad stayed in place to cover their rear and potential path of retreat. Rhonda and the two couples joined Epstein’s squad (Fourth, Rebecca supposed? Or maybe they were some kind of attached group just like her and Echo?) in the vehicles to head for the rear gate, towards the intersection guarded by the two heavy weapons Humvees.

When Rebecca had asked Catherine what she wanted to do, the nomad queen rightly surmised the armory was going to be pretty crowded with thirty-some people and several vehicles swarming into it. They remained to poke through the handful of cars left in the street and parking garages, and the abandoned apartments in the building Third Squad had vacated. Monica and her dumbshit companion could have Rebecca’s old building and its contents to themselves. Once Rebecca and Ronnie’s people were done in the small military base, Cat and hers could accompany them back to home for a refuel and short respite from their roving.

It only took a few minutes to get to the gate. Rebecca was somehow glad the road looked different, overgrown and unmaintained, windblown trash mixed with piles of decaying leaves. It didn’t make it feel like she was leaving home a second time, and was sufficiently different to not be too reminiscent of driving away with Jaime. Still, she fingered the chain around her neck thoughtfully, feeling the attached pendant move against her sternum beneath layers of clothes and armor. Not dwelling, just reflecting briefly… then smiling appreciatively back at Sam when they made eye contact.

She heard Rhonda order the team in the woods to advance just before they got to the gate and swung into the left hairpin turn needed to enter from that direction. She laughed at the sight of a standard black mailbox on a wooden post just before the tubular steel gates, and then they were approaching the rust-colored brick facaded buildings she’d driven past often but never paid much attention to.

The partial convoy halted before passing between them and most of the riders dismounted, Ronnie gesturing them towards the building on the right. It was squat, wide building, a little over two stories tall, that looked vaguely like an oversized firehouse. Three large steel roll-up doors faced them on the near wall — the two on the right were smaller, and the ground sloped down in that direction so they opened at loading dock height. The left door was wider, at ground level, with wide oval windows in it at standing height. Rebecca supposed it was a good sign nobody was shooting out of them.

Between the large doors were two fairly standard grey steel doors. The two small groups of soldiers ahead of her peeked through the windows with mirrors (faster than her and Sam futzing with plugging in the camera, she supposed) and breached the person-sized doors with a pair of tools that looked like a cross between a crowbar and a hammer. She was impressed by how quickly it popped the seam between the two doors as they swung, then levered, the long bar so its clawed head dug behind the edge of one side and pulled it outwards.

Overall, this didn’t seem to have been a particularly high security facility. There wasn’t even a fence on either side of the entry gate on this end of the compound — it seemed to be a staff parking and delivery area. Maybe that explained the not-very-reinforced doors too.

Chrissie pointed out movement off to their left, and Rebecca saw some of the squads from the woods making similar entry into what seemed to be an office and administration building, advancing in parallel with the group breaching the garage-warehouse-thing. She was perfectly content to sit back and let the professionals work this time, but did idly glance around in the distance behind them — even though she could see the one of the Humvees at the intersection down the hill, it couldn’t hurt to keep an eye out. Maybe someday she could step outside and not always worry about her surroundings again. She’d like to think that Ronnie and Sam were right, their work today was a step towards that.

After a few minutes of watching their surroundings contemplatively, she heard Epstein call out that the building was clear, The big space beyond the door tinged his voice with a hollow echoing note. Shortly after that, someone started hauling the large vehicle door open with a clattering chain pulley inside and some of the vehicles started moving around the building to the main parking lot on the far side— where the solar panels were, and the larger motor pool parking lot beyond.

With the building secured, the four civilians opted to go through, rather than around it — they were all eager to see if there was anything worthwhile inside, and Rebecca liked the idea of walking through a safe enclosed area more than strolling around in the open until they set up a perimeter. They detoured to chip in on opening the loading dock doors to let light in - Sam and Rebecca hauled away on one chain while soldiers opened the other door, and Patrick and Christine headed for another at the opposite end of the building.

When Rebecca released the chain after the last pull and turned around, she could see much more of the interior. The area they stood in was set up as a warehouse — massive Costco-esque steel shelves, palettes, crates, a forklift in the corner. A quick look around confirmed that the depot had been pretty heavily tapped during the outbreak, and searched by someone later. There were big empty swathes of shelves, remaining crates had their lids pried open, and broken padlocks lay on the ground, the sheared edges of their hasps reflecting the ambient light brighter than their surroundings. Still, Epstein look pretty excited as he looked in some of the crates, probably inventorying their contents on the notepad he was writing in. Rebecca was pretty sure one particular contraption near the far garage doors was an engine hoist, and a fair number of tools were still hanging from pegs or visible in open drawers. All that boded well for maintaining their existing fleet, at least.

But… light bulbs. Smokeless heat. Music. Those sure would be nice. After a brief exploration, Rebecca and Sam made their way out of the far garage doors. The redhead let out a low whistle. "Wow. It looks like… six panels per row, three rows per… what should I call those… canopies? Gantries? Four of those. Seventy-two panels. There’s no way I’m getting all of those down today. That might be close to what Broadway had."

Rebecca just looked at them in awe as they walked over. "How much power are we looking at?"

Sam tilted her head the left, one of her tells that indicated she was crunching numbers. "Well… they’re probably 200, 300 watts each? We’ll lose some in transmission and conversion, but… "

"A hundred and forty-four old school light bulbs?"

Sam leaned her face forward into the palm of her hand. "Yes, dear, if you want to use that as a unit of measurement. We could also just settle on 'a lot'."

Rebecca chuckled at how she’d managed to pain Sam with her oversimplification. "I guess we better get you to work."

Sam groaned as she lifted her head and squinted at the panels above her. "Ugh. You have no idea. There’s a transformer on each panel instead of one big one… that’s… better for future us, but it’s going to be so many things to disconnect and unmount." She sighed. "I want a robot. Or…" 

Rebecca swept her hand in an arc around them. "A literal army of minions?"

"Muah hah hah." Sam feigned her best attempt at an evil mastermind’s laugh, but then her voice was almost plaintive. "Please help me find Ronnie so I don’t have to do this all myself."

**

While someone backed the big tree service truck up as close as they could to the solar arrays, Sam explained the volume of work overhead to Ronnie, who processed it with a few arched eyebrows and nods. Each cell had to be covered, then disconnected from the inverter, its leads covered, then the whole thing physically detached and lowered. They’d planned ahead for some of that at least - rolls of black garbage bags and piles of moving blankets in the cargo truck. But even with the cargo trailers a handful of soldiers were already hooking most of the Humvees up to, there was no way this was all going to fit in one load, not to mention whatever other goodies they found.

Rhonda nodded one last time when Sam finished all of the details and raised a hand palm up, sighed, and dropped it again. "Alright, Red. The part we need you most for is getting them disarmed for safe handling. Taking them down once that’s done should be straightforward mechanical talent and physical labor." She paused to yell over her shoulder. "LANDRY!"

One of the soldiers checking the hitch connection between a trailer and Humvee looked up and jogged over. "Take two of your technically inclined people and assist Miss Conroy. Her priority today is showing you how to fully dismount one solar panel, then focus on de-energizing all of them for future recovery and removing herself as a dependency. Any questions?"

The slightly shorter than usual but extremely burly glanced from Ronnie to Sam to the panels overhead and nodded. "No questions, Gunny. We’ll follow her lead."

"Good." She dismissed him back to find his two picks with a nod, then turned back to the girls. "Landry’s done some construction work in the past. He’ll at least know which way to turn a wrench. Rebecca, time for you to go find a nest and post up. Take Elroy since Chrissie’s putting her head together with Epstein, set up on the maintenance bay’s roof and watch the road and your girl. Ladder’s on the southeast corner."

"Got it." Rebecca nodded to Ronnie then turned to Sam, pulling her gently towards her with a hand on her forearm and kissing her on the cheek. "Be safe, Rosie."

Sam tilted her head to clonk helmets with Rebecca again. "I will, sugar. Enjoy getting to lay down for bit while everyone else does the work."

Rebecca stepped back, lingering her hand in Sam’s as she did. "Hey, at least you mostly get to be in the shade." With that and a grin at Sam’s smirk, she turned and walked quickly through the garage, twisting and sidestepping around Epstein’s crew, and gesturing to Patrick where he was looking for somewhere to contribute manual labor. "C’mon buddy, you get to help me stare into the distance up top."

He laughed and hustled across warehouse space to catch up with her as she went to the Humvee to retrieve her long gun. There, she tossed him a bundle — a mottled tarp and one of her sleeping pads rolled up, with a set of straps cinched around them providing a carry handle — before she pulled her backpack on and slung Felicia’s case across it, the strap diagonal across her torso. Patrick managed to do the same with his carbine as he followed her to the ladder, then hung the bundle over his shoulder for the climb.

Rebecca could hear the reverse beeper of the tree service truck as she climbed the ladder ahead of Patrick, no doubt getting positioned closer to the steel structure supporting the solar panels over the parking lot. At the top, she turned and literally offered Patrick a hand clearing the last few rungs to the roof’s edge. While they caught their breath, she surveyed the rooftop, then led him across the roof (and up onto a higher section that involved another shorter ladder climb) towards the edge overlooking the EV spots. 

Glancing down, she saw Landry form a step with his hands for Sam, boosting her up onto the truck’s hood with an amicable "Up you go, sister." She smiled a little to herself when Sam hooked her toe under the rear lip of the hood, by the windshield, and reached out to help Landry pull himself up behind her. They reversed the gesture on top of the cab, with Landry reaching out to steady Sam as she set one foot on top of the folded boom arm and pivoted so she could reach the crew bucket with her other leg and slip into it. Once her boots plunked to its floor, Sam looked up at the panels, and then her with a reassuring wink. Rebecca replied with a lopsided grin before turning back to the rooftop and waving Patrick towards what looked to be a nearby pair of ventilation or cooling machines.

With his help, she arranged the tarp spanning the gap between the two, then crawled beneath to spread her bedroll out. He settled to sit with his back against one of the cooling units — at first to her right, but she waved him over to the left side, reminding him that he’d get pelted with brass if she had to start shooting. He laughed as he shuffled around her while she laid out her backpack in front of the bedroll, removing a pair of binoculars that she passed to him and a small rangefinder and notepad.

Felicia’s case went alongside the bedroll to her left, and she unzipped it and lay the rifle across the backpack, taking a few moments to make sure the adjustment knobs on the top and side of the scope were still locked in the correct positions. Of the four magazines left in the case’s side pouches, she shoved one in her left thigh pocket in case she had to reposition hastily, then settled prone behind the rifle and picked up the rangefinder. Before starting that though… she looked back at Patrick over her left shoulder.  
"Hey, do you have any half-full mags left after that fight?"

He started patting around on his load vest until he found the one he was looking for. "I don’t know about half, but yeah, a partial."

Rebecca passed him the one she’d used during the same fight. "See what you can make out of the two of them while you’re just sitting there looking pretty." He chuckled as she turned back to look out at the highway though the rangefinder. It was actually just one they’d found in a civilian sporting good’s store — nothing military grade, just what a well-heeled golfer would use some Saturday… but it was handy for setting up in new locations like this.

She heard the hydraulics of the truck below groaning as she made a rough sketch of the view in front of her and started jotting down ranges of convenient landmarks. The crest of the hill where the highway disappeared out of view in the distance, a billboard and a large tree, the end of the armory fence line. Between the whirring sounds from below, she could make out the clicking sounds of Patrick pushing bullets out of one magazine and into another, and realized she didn’t know which way he was moving them.

"Hey Pat, what ammo are you carrying? Just general stock?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess. I know we were loading from a couple of different box styles."

That confirmed her suspicions. "Okay. Mix my ammo into yours, but not the other way. I need to make sure my magazines are all the same load so the rounds land consistently."

"Got it, that makes sense. I might as well do something useful… Chris’s putting her head together with Epstein and going all super logistics queen like she does, we’re not here for food, so there’s not much use for a glorified urban farm boy like me on this ride along."

Rebecca had a slightly evil idea and smirked into the eyepiece of the rangefinder. "Hey now. I knew a very nice farm boy freshman year. I’m pretty sure Chrissie will agree with me, there’s nothing wrong with taking a one for a ride. There’s something to be said for stamina…" Patrick sputtered and she heard the distinctive clink of a fumbled round hitting the roof they were on. She was a little remorseful, but it was still fun teasing him. "Sorry. He flustered easily too, I think it was part of the appeal."

She set down the rangefinder and snugged up to her rifle while Patrick chuckled and sighed — probably rolling his eyes. God, it was so much more comfortable than her old one, in more ways than one. Better ergonomics were one thing, but every time she picked it up, she was relieved to not be literally rubbing bad memories in her face. She unconsciously shifted her cheek against the buttstock (comparing it afterwards to how she might have against Sam’s hand, or even Jaime’s back in the day) and let a little sigh be the start of focusing on slowing her breathing. Panning the rifle back and forth across the trees and skyline, she tried to get familiar with the view so anything different would stand out.

After a few minutes of that and Patrick quietly clicking away with the magazines, she worried she might have hurt his feelings or something. "Hey… I hope that didn’t come off as too mean." Her voice was muffled from being up against the rifle, but he wasn’t very far away.

"What? Oh no, please don’t tell me my girlfriend is happy with my performance in the bedroom. Anything but that. Oh no."

His feigned incredulity was enough to make her giggle. "Okay, okay. We wouldn’t want you to get complacent after all." She paused as she saw a flutter of motion at the bottom of her field of view and lifted her head away from the scope briefly, just enough to see Sam and Landry loosely cinching a length of rope around a moving blanket they’d just flung over the first solar panel. They were a tight squeeze, both of them in the lift bucket at the same time, but she supposed that was necessary for him to see what she was doing up close… and those muscles would certainly come in handy wrestling the panel off of its scaffolding. She noticed the same rope they’d lashed around the blanket was fed through a carabiner attached to the bucket and down to the ground — probably an improvised pulley to lower it to the ground?

She settled her eye back behind the scope as she finished that thought and scanned the distance again. After another minute or two, she heard Patrick musing behind her. "I just never thought I’d end up spending half my life on guard duty."

Rebecca shifted her chin away from Felicia slightly, but continued her vigil through the scope. "I’m not sure if I should laugh or cry at that. I suppose there’s a lot of laughing about things so we don’t cry going around. How’d you end up on that agriculture and hydro team anyway?"

"If you’re looking for a story to pass the time, you’re in for disappointment because it’s really not that exciting. I worked in a hardware store for a couple of years, so that’s where they stuck me when I stumbled into Broadway after getting a flat tire on my bike. It worked out though, there was this foxy blonde with firm opinions about seed inventory and tracking fertilizer usage."

That got Rebecca to chuckle. "Things good between the two of you?"

"Oh yeah. It’s nice being able to start setting up a place of our own with y’all. Home again, you know?""Amen to that." Their conversation lapsed for a while as Rebecca periodically lifted her head to peek down at Sam for a second or two. They’d removed one solar panel, and it seemed she’d dropped Landry off and come back up again on her own to cover and disconnect individual panels, moving down the row with gradually smoother movements as she grew familiar with the crane controls.

Rebecca was quite grateful for the fancy padding inside her purloined armor — the squishy gel conformed much better than conventional armor. She really felt it at bottom edge of her ribcage as she lay mostly flat, but with her shoulders and head propped up behind the rifle. Doing that in her old gear used to make breathing uncomfortable over time, but now she could almost take a nap in it if she had to. For now, breathing freely sufficed.

"Hey, Patrick?""What’s up?"

"Have you and Chrissie, like… talked about looking for your families?"

"Yeah, who hasn’t… but her folks are out in Nebraska and, frankly, I kinda had a falling out with mine. So realistically, we’re in a holding pattern until the internet comes back or something."

"You’re past reconciliation with yours?" Rebecca tried to make sure her tone was neutral, not stirring anything up… asking why might be prying too far.

"I mean… I guess I’d like to know that they’re okay and vice versa, but we’re not about to make an excursion just for that any time soon."

"Gotcha… fair enough." A flicker of movement drew her attention she quickly aimed for a better look, but it turned out to just be a small group of deer coming out of the woods and nibbling on the grass that had overgrown the fringes of the highway. That was actually helpful, they’d spook if there was someone out there.

Patrick saw her shift quickly and then relax. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah. Deer on the road. God, I’m sick of venison. Anyway… Sam and I… her parents’ place is just a little outside of town, we were hoping to go check it out." It was a little weird, carrying on a conversation without eye contact, just this voice behind her as she stared down her rifle scope. Some part of her kept expecting it to be Ronnie’s voice answering back."That’s cool, I’ll keep my fingers crossed. What about your family?"

"Farther, but maybe… my dad died when I was nine, but the last text message from my mom was that she was heading out to my uncle’s cabin out west. There’s a whole lake and wilderness preserve up there. She told me not to try to make it though, because the roads were so bad between us. You know, with the panic in DC, then Richmond when everyone heard what was coming their way…"

It was Patrick’s turn not to dig too deep into information that wasn’t volunteered. "And Norfolk, yeah. And here we are stuck in the middle. There weren’t many good options to get out once everyone else started flooding the roads and rivers. I heard there were some crazy extortion rackets ferrying people down the Potomac out of DC.""Assuming they were actually taking them anywhere." She sighed, resting more of her head’s weight on the rifle stock. "Fuck humanity, man. We did this shit to ourselves, and we still are if this morning is any sign of how things are going outside our walls."

"Hey, I don’t know where you’re getting this 'we' nonsense. Seems like there’s some pretty clear delineation between the assholes and non-assholes.""Really? What about upstairs, with those two numpties in my apartment?"

Patrick conceded her point somewhat. "Being scared makes non-asshole people a little more asshole-y, though I maintain that’s usually people who were more towards the middle of the spectrum. But hey, at least the wildlife is doing well in our absence."

"Ever the optimist. I guess that’s why Chrissie keeps you around.""That and my stamina."

Rebecca scoffed and lifted away from the rifle briefly to shake her head and take a long drag on her hydration hose where it protruded from her pack. "Farm boys."

**

Rebecca had to roll over and stretch at least four or five times over the next couple of hours, leaving Patrick to watch the distance through the binoculars. It left her longing for the cushy couches and armchairs of her old sniper hides with Ronnie, or the sometimes-hot showers some saint had designed at Broadway. Their new bed was definitely nicer though, so that was something to look forward to at least. That, and Sam’s burgeoning abilities to mirror Rebecca’s targeted, anatomically educated, efforts to dig knots out of stubborn muscles.

Sam, meanwhile, was getting really tired of looking and reaching up over her head in the crane. At least Landry’s idea to use large black garbage bags someone found in a supply closet, pulling one over each end of the panels so they overlapped in the middle and then tying them together, saved her a lot of time moving from panel to panel. If she had to remove and re-use the twenty or so moving blankets they had with them, she might have been driven to a pique of despair or rage. As it was, even settling into a smooth rhythmic routine, she had only managed to disconnect half of the solar panels by the time the sun was getting low towards the horizon. She was damned grateful for it too, her shoulders and forearms were killing her — especially after depleting the multiple lithium ion battery packs for the cordless driver in her toolkit. She finished disconnecting the one last transformer she was working and then sagged in the bucket in grateful defeat when Ronnie told her to wrap up in preparation for calling it a day.

As she maneuvered the bucket arm away from the overhead solar support structures and down to the ground, she heard Ronnie and Davis discussing leaving a team onsite, debating whether to shelter up in the administration building or the abandoned apartment building across from Rebecca’s. She lost track of the conversation as the bucket set down, and uncharacteristically accepted Landry’s assistance getting out — which effectively equated to him picking her up by the tactical webbing on the outside of her armor and bodily lifting her halfway clear of it so she could pivot and flop her legs out in turn.

"Long day, huh sister?" She’d notice he called everyone around him "sister" or "brother". He wasn’t being patronizing about it, thankfully.

She leaned over, supporting her upper body weight with her hands on her knees for a minute. "Ugh… I’m not even lifting and carrying things, and I feel like I’ve been through the wringer. I belong at a workbench or elbows deep in a wiring harness, not in a construction vehicle."

Landry, ever companionably, lifted the sling bag she carried her tools in from her shoulder and effortlessly tossed it over his. "Don’t be too hard on yourself, you lasted a good long time and kept moving. There’s a reason they make us hold our rifles over our heads while we run and crap like that in basic. Muscles really, really don’t like to be held in one position for a long time. It’s a completely different workout than heavy exertion and is just brutal on stamina."

She straightened her posture apprehensively, hoping nothing in her back would cramp up. "I believe that last part, but forgive me if I equate it to a motor straining against a load it can’t budge. Good way to burn one out. I’ll let you and my girl stick to the muscle science, she’s all educamated on that kind of thing."

"Your girl, huh?" He only skipped half a beat — not enough to make her think he had any issues with it, just enough to indicate he wasn’t aware they were a couple. Oh, yeah, he’d been off getting his underlings when Rebecca had kissed her cheek. "Well, same theory applies, I guess. Static load instead of a dynamic one."

Huh. Brains and muscle. Way to defy stereotypes. "Well, that theory kicked my ass today. Do you think you and your boys can repeat what I walked you through?" 

"Yeah, we’re solid. The whole show us, then supervise us doing it a couple of times thing is good teaching technique. Left seat, right seat."

"Okay, cool. I don’t think I’m going to be able to lift my arms tomorrow. I guess you’re going to tell me that just means it’s leg day, huh?" Landry chuckled at her, but she continued before he had to formulate a witty reply. "Meanwhile, sweet Mary’s baby do I have to pee. Please tell me someone found a working bathroom around here?"

"You’re in luck. I’d definitely suggest the ones in the administration building, not the garage… even before things went to shit."

"Great, thanks." Sam scooped up her gun from where it leaned against the truck and started across the parking lot, but glanced back over her shoulder after a few steps. "Make sure you use the multimeter after you cover them, don’t get lazy after the first twelve and just start poking wires. Everyone thinks DC is safe because it’s lower voltage but it’ll still fuck you up."

"No worries, sister. Treat every weapon like it’s loaded. We got it."

That analogy convinced her he was treating the insidious electrons with sufficient healthy respect. "Aright, cool." She left him to shut down the truck or whatever and entered the administration building through one of the smaller staff entrances. As she walked down the hallway she peered into the meeting spaces and open office areas around her. It looked like the front half of the building had served as a National Guard recruiting office. How many of the troops they were working with might have actually come through here, she wondered? A few of them were going through filing cabinets stacks of binders in the rooms she passed.

She finally spotted restroom signs when she found the windows and double doors to the lobby, the floor of which was that polished concrete with a bunch of little rocks visibly mixed in to cut down on the industrialness. Really, it just made her think of school buildings older than she was or dreary municipal offices like the one she had to go get a replacement birth certificate at years ago. Boy, was that going to be fun in the future, tracking and proving people’s identities… too bad nobody had gotten around into creating self-verifying digital ID’s with blockchain tech or something like that.

The bathroom pretty much matched the lobby decor, dark tan steel stall doors and high frosted windows that at least let enough remaining light in that she didn’t need a flashlight to see. The air was stale, but not rank, and the only cobwebs were faint and in high corners. So, as far as bathrooms went these days, not too bad. Heck, probably better than some she’d used on road trips Before. Despite that, she’d seen enough movies to keep her gun aimed at each bathroom stall as she nudged the doors open in turn before selecting one.

However many times she’d done so, it was still weird peeing with a gun balanced in her lap. But, she was pleased to find soap and a few paper towels still left in the dispensers. Sure, she could have just wiped her hands dry on her jeans, but the paper would still make perfectly good fire starter after she’d used it if someone came along looking for it. And… hello.

She grabbed two fistfuls of tampons from the dispenser on the wall, grateful for whatever forward-thinking officer had decided local military office restrooms should be stocked with such things. A familiar flash of envy of Rebecca and her IUD passed as she stuffed them in the thigh pocket on her left leg. She left a handful for some other woman who might come through later — they had a decent supply back at home, but there were probably more in a supply closet somewhere around here, and she might as well top up their stock while the opportunity was right in front of her. Especially since Ronnie had said they were apparently good for packing bullet wounds, and it looked like their winter respite might be coming to a close, dammit.

That thought darkened her mood enough that the door thumped into its rubber stop as she hauled it open. Another half hour or so and she might have needed her flashlight to get back through the building to the far exit door, and she was eager to get back somewhere familiar and cozy with her girl and their dog before night settled over the town in earnest. She wasn’t up for climbing the ladder to go look for Rebecca, so she settled on heading back to the Humvee to stow her gear and get off her feet. On the way there, she passed Epstein carrying two clanking shoulder bags and quirked an eyebrow. "Hey, get anything good?"

"Oh yeah. The expected heap of spare parts I was hoping for, but also some other goodies." He fished a roughly fist sized silver and black cylinder from the bag on his right and held it up. "Manual impact driver! Don’t need a compressor, just smack it with a hammer and it creates sharp rotational force. Great for rusted-in bolts."

"Or screws that have been stretched tight by abrupt impacts like a robot getting smacked into the arena wall. I know, I’ve used one, silly. Just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean you’re the only one in this conversation that can twirl a wrench." Teasing him lightened her spirits a bit.

Fortunately he knew she was playing around and took it in stride. "Well, excuuuuuuse me. I guess you were pretty good at it too, since your thumbs are still straight."

"Hitting things with a hammer was pretty therapeutic after losing a match due to something stupid like a wire coming loose."

"So you did that a lot then?" Apparently, beneath the energetic nice guy exterior, Doug could still throw a few verbal jabs too. That was fine, she could last a few rounds.

"Shut up. Only until people finally listened and let me start zip tying AND hot glueing the important ones. Oh wait, they didn’t…" (she punctuated this with an excellently overdone suprised-she-forgot-that-detail eyebrow twitch and head tilt) "…I did that myself, and then we won three matches and I pointed it out. Huh."

Epstein raised his hands in a gesture of surrender and backed a step or two in the direction he had been heading. "Hey, I would have been all for the the extra failure resistance."

"Mmm. Yeah, well, apparently you’re smarter than the average engineering student then." The disdain on her face was only a little bit exaggeration.

"I’ll take it. See you around, Sam."

"Seeya Doug. Keep yer head on straight."  
"If I don’t, the Gunny’ll smack it right for me."

She chuckled, which she appreciated him causing. "True enough." They resumed their separate courses, and she was grateful to see Landry had left her messenger bag full of tools hanging from the side mirror on her ride… but was dismayed when Christine waved her away towards her ex-Black Tusk Humvee. That meant her aching shoulders had to carry things for longer. Boo.

"Hey friend. Ronnie said that we should carpool up for the drive back, she’s leaving that truck here with the squads securing the site."

Sam tried to convince herself her butt and back would appreciate the nicer interior, and that it was worth trudging the extra yards to the other vehicle. "Well, at least it’s an upgrade."  
"You still gotta bring your own snacks, honey. But I’m not heartless, I moved your n’ Rebecca’s stuff."

Sam sighed. She really was tired, she hadn’t even remembered about their bigger packs yet, but she was thankful Chrissie had moved them over already as she thumped her toolbag down next to them in the cargo bed. "Well, I’ll at least leave the flight crew a good review. Can you tell her? I need to sit for a while.""You got it. Take a load off." Christine shooed Sam towards the door and walked back towards the warehouse, leaving her to climb into the rear seat and lean back with a grateful sigh. The interior really was nicer… still utilitarian, but not "spartan" like the genuine GI article. Even the door closed more smoothly, and felt like it latched in place more securely. When she turned to reach for her backpack and the self-service snacks in it, she realized that one or two of the solar panels were bundled up in a moving blanket under the bags and regretted setting her tools down so carelessly. Still, if Chrissie had prepped them for shipment and felt comfortable putting more items on top… they were probably just fine. She’d eaten half of the remaining bread, a slightly out of date energy bar, washed it all down with several swigs of lukewarm water, and still had time to close her eyes and drift for a few minutes before she heard Rebecca and Patrick open the back.

"Hey kids. Careful, some of the solar panels are back there."

Rebecca obligingly settled her rifle case alongside the padded rectangular lump and looked over at her. "Oh cool. Excited to play with them at home?"

"Bleh." Sam waved her arm with only the least embellishment of feebleness. "Only if they’re at waist height."

"Aww." Rebecca disappeared around the back until she opened the other door and set the P90 on the floor. "You okay?"

Sam handed her the last of the bread, partially wrapped in the bag it came in. "Only mostly dead."

"Mm. Same…" Rebecca took the bread appreciatively and ripped a hunk off with her teeth. Sam could tell she was stiff as she slumped into the other seat. "I guess we’re proof that the two extremes of staying very still and doing a lot of work are both hard on the body."

"Something like that." Sam was glad this vehicle actually had headrests. "Can we go home now?"

Patrick and Christine were just opening their doors and getting their odds and ends stowed up front. Looked like Chrissie would be driving, given where she looked back at them from. "That’s the plan, gals. Ronnie said we should be leaving in about ten."

"Mm, good." Sam had closed her eyes, and could smell the wafting fragrance as Rebecca opened the insulated bottle with the tea in it. She was probably hoping the caffeine would prop her up for the ride home, but Sam was just totally done, and knew she’d be drifting within minutes as soon as the convoy got moving.

She was right — she wasn’t asleep, but her eyelids were heavy and sounds were distant unless she roused herself to really focus on them. She could tell they were taking a different route based on the first few turns — made sense if they weren’t going back to the airfield on the way — and some of the chatter on the radio. Knowing that the drones were in the air and that the FLIR cameras didn’t show any heat signatures near their route was pretty much the last straw for her struggle to maintain consciousness, and she floated off into a hazy semi-consciousness.

She dozed like that for an indeterminate amount of time, occasionally jerking awake when a turn slid her chin off her hand and her head dropped, only to resettle quickly again. But, she startled when something bounced rudely off of her face, and shook herself awake to look around with an irritated frown. She realized it was a crumpled ball of paper, and her assailant was probably Patrick since he was looking back at her from the front passenger seat. When she made eye contact, he arched an eyebrow and tilted his head towards Rebecca, where she sat behind him looking out the window.

Sam blinked her eyes clear and looked over at Rebecca, then past her through the window to see what had her attention. Their route zigzagging across town, dodging the mess of the main highway and the causeways it overflowed onto, had taken them within sight of the local hospital, and it was a pretty haunting sight. The emergency measures were unnerving enough to look at, but time and weather had been unkind, like they had their own commentary to express about humankind. Field hospital tents were erected in the parking lots, tears hanging open in jagged flaps. Whole wings of the erratically connected buildings forming the complex were wrapped in yellow sheeting plastered with biohazard symbols, and scaffolding and decontamination "airlock" tunnels jutting from them were collapsing in on themselves.

Worse was the open space bordering the property. There was just enough twilight for Sam to see the wide swaths of disturbed ground and a pair of abandoned digging machines sunken in thawing mud, slowly being overgrown by the unkempt scrub brush.

Gah… she knew mass graves were a thing, but the sight was still viscerally uncomfortable. And on the other side of the complex, dozens of "mobile home" style trailers like those emergency agencies used as temporary housing after hurricanes… but fenced in with razor wire. She’d learned enough about checkpoint construction over the last several months that she could plainly see the gates, guard towers, and floodlights were designed as much to keep people in as out. Dear god… had it really come to quarantining people by force?  
She heard Rebecca mumble something, and strained across the wide gap between the seats to get a grip on her shoulder and then reach for her face once she’d gotten close enough. "Hey. Hey, look at me." Rebecca blinked, but still had a lost expression on her face. "Remy, look at ME." Sam found herself lifting her eyebrows and tucking her chin downwards like a lecturing teacher or parent. "All that… everything over there… happened already. We can’t change it. Focus on the future, what’s in front of us. What’s right in front of you."

To her credit, Rebecca seemed to shrug the shock off pretty quickly once Sam had her attention, and took a long slow breath. "Yeah. Okay. Just… jeez."

"I know, honey, I know." Motion caught Sam’s eye from the front seat, and she saw Patrick offering a metal hip flask in her direction. Sure, what the hell. She took it, spun and flicked the cap back with the thumb of the same hand she held it in, and took a swig without bothering to ask what it was first. The sweet, smoky burn made her eyebrows rise again, and she coughed a little as she passed the flask to Rebecca, breathing deeply to air out some of the heat in her throat. Rebecca had pretty much the same reaction, but with an added shake of her head that briefly reminded Sam of Rufus sneezing… before she took another sip and passed the flask back. Sam didn’t feel like a second dose and looked at Pat as he reached back for it. "Good lord. What was that?"

"Scotch with some honey n’ herbs added in. 'Drambuie', it’s called. I was pretty stoked to find a bottle of it a few months back, it’s a hell of a lot smoother than Broadway’s moonshine."  
"No shit. I think you just cleared out my sinuses for a week." Sam watched him grin and take a pull of his own before putting it away, then refocused on Rebecca again. "Hey babe. You there?"

"Uh, yeah. I’m not sure how many brain cells that stuff just killed, but whooo…" 

Sam chuckled as she noticed a small shiver run through Rebecca. Patrick’s little concoction had certainly been a timely and effective distraction, even if it would take a bit for the alcohol to have any effect. (Though, she pondered, it very well might have just gone straight from her mouth to her bloodstream… and lungs, the way the heat seemed to linger in her chest.)

Rebecca continued. "Thanks… I just last saw the hospital months before, when it was… not like that."

Sam nodded and patted her hand, then removed both her glove and Rebecca’s to get better skin contact. She kept her thumb moving gently in a continuous circle to provide a constant stimulus for Rebecca to tune in on, consciously or otherwise. "Of course, sugar. We’ll be home soon. Rufus is probably gonna lose his shit when he sees us, and then we can get out of all this gear, finally put our feet up."

"That sounds like a great idea."

"Right?" Sam sat back so she wasn’t pulling against the seatbelt any longer, but kept ahold of Rebecca’s hand. Patrick made eye contact over his shoulder one last time, and she gave him a small appreciative nod for rousting her.

Still, she threw the balled-up lunch bag back at him a minute later once he probably wasn’t expecting it anymore.

**

Rufus’ tail-wagging was definitely taking the rest of his back half along for the ride when Tania, Nate’s mom, let go of his leash. Apparently the two of them had been keeping each other company the latter half of the day. Last time that happened, Rufus had thrown up on the floor right after the girls had gotten under the covers. (Credit for not doing it on the bed, at least.) Such a mundane anxiety was a comfortable relief for Rebecca as Tania emphatically promised she’d only given Nate snacks that were known to be Rufus-safe, since she’d given up on trying to convince him to not oblige the big sad puppy eyes every time they were turned loose. Rebecca smiled and thanked her, and knelt down to let Rufus headbutt her, having shed her helmet as soon as they pulled into the gate. She giggled at the inevitable licking, wondering how the condition of her hair compared to when she first got to meet him in that rainy alley. A little dog spit would wash off easily enough, and much like the smaller worry of his stomach stability, was a more familiar, domestic kind of yuck that she’d take any day.

Sam took a knee beside her and joined in lavishing Rufus with affection, scritching under his collar and getting some chilly wet nuzzles in her face in return. "That’s a good boy… we’re home, buddy. Yes, hello, we missed you too." When Rebecca’s eyes met hers, Sam was glad to see some of the usual warm joy kindled in them again and gave her a private little smile. "Better now, sugar?"

"Oh yeah." Rebecca sighed happily and buried her face in the top of Rufus’s head for a moment before standing, visibly refreshed. "Tania, thanks again for bringing him down to meet us."  
"Of course, Rebecca. I’m happy for Nate to have all the friends he can, no matter how many legs they have. Have a good night, I’m sure you’ll sleep like logs."

Had she overheard some of the radio chatter, or was that just a mom’s instincts, knowing they’d had a day? Either way, Rebecca and Sam thanked her again and wished her a good night in return before turning back to the rows of vehicles parked between the two buildings, backed up into two facing rows along the sides of the big impromptu courtyard. They walked a few spots down the row to take their place in the small crowd of tired personnel unpacking the vehicles they’d been riding in, seeing Patrick say something to Christine that made her nod and kiss him on the cheek as she patted his shoulder approvingly.

"Hey gals." She greeted them as they returned. "Enjoy putting your feet up — I’ll let the boys see you to your door and catch up with you in the morning?"

They figured out what she meant as Patrick finished picking up the rest of their gear and Christine dragged his pack from the cargo bed. Rebecca chuckled gratefully while Sam spoke up. "Thanks for the loan, Chris. Sleep well."  
"You too. See you in a bit, hon."

Patrick leaned to kiss her back, murmuring something affectionate they couldn’t hear, and then shrugged the bags on his shoulders to resettle their weight. "Ladies, if you’d be so kind, I’ll show you to your suite."

Rebecca grinned. "Such service here. Are pets allowed in the hotel? I forgot to mention him on our reservation."

"Well." Patrick looked down at Rufus, who wagged at him. "He seems remarkably well socialized and trustworthy. I think we can waive the deposit."

As he started walking to the door that Christine was holding open with one foot, Sam laid on a heavy artificial Southern accent. "My. Well, we do appreciate your consideration good sir."

Christine rolled her eyes at them before letting go of the door as Rebecca reached for to hold it for Miss Samantha and her entourage. Before they reached the stairs, Patrick made a comment about how management (nodding ahead of them towards Christine) emphasized making guests feel at home, but once they were climbing, the banter petered off while they focused on getting enough air for the four-and-a-half story climb and proper footing in the dim light. A string of low voltage landscape lights hung down the center of the stairwell, but Chris supplemented it with a compact lantern from one of their bags.

When they reached the right floor, she turned off in the opposite direction — she and Patrick enjoyed the river view without the same emotional baggage, particularly in contrast to Broadway’s mostly underground quarters. As her light faded, Sam and Rebecca turned on their flashlights to better light the way for Patrick. Even dimly lit as it was, the cold hallway echoing with Rufus’s clicking toenails felt appropriately like coming home to Rebecca, not the spooky movie a newcomer might compare it to. She knew a few more yards would bring them to the little welcome mat outside their door, the heavy steel originally meant to block the sounds of hundreds of neighbors providing that innermost shell of security around their cozy home, blocking out the messed up world outside they were trying to carve a decent life out of.

What she didn’t expect to see was a pair of milk crates stacked next to a towel-wrapped bundle outside their door, full of assorted insulated steel bottles and hot beverage pitchers. A note on the top proclaimed "BATHTIME" in a swooping large-font-size version of Allie’s cursive, and when Sam inquisitively unwrapped the towel (aided/hampered by Rufus’ curious sniffing), they found a familiar insulated pot labeled "DINNER". They all laughed lightly at the surprise, and Rebecca felt an emotional prequel to the warm physical comfort Allie had prepared for them spreading in her core as she unlocked their door for Patrick. As he bumped the door open and held it from inside with his foot, she stooped to pick up the two crates and Sam wrapped her arms around the towel-clad pot and rose.

Patrick set Rebecca’s box of belongings down in a vacant space on their coffee table and began unslinging bags from his shoulders. "Where do you ladies want your stuff?"

"Oh, the dining table’s fine, we probably won’t even touch it tonight." Rebecca hefted the crates onto one of the counter stools so conveniently near waist height, and switched on a lantern on the counter. "Thank you again, you didn’t have to carry everything… though we certainly appreciate it."

"Well you know us farm boys and our endurance." Patrick delivered the subtle dig with a perfectly straight face, but Sam could tell from Rebecca’s sputter that there was a reference in there and arched her eyebrow at them from the kitchen as she unwrapped the pot again on the counter.

Rebecca gave her a little grin and shook her head. "Anyway. Goodnight, Patrick, Give Chrissie a hug for us."

"I will. I better get over there in case there’s a surprise on our doorstep too." He exchanged nods with Sam on his way back to the front door and closed it behind him.

Sam unhooked her helmet from where she’d buckled it around her belt and set it down on the table next to their gear. Meanwhile, Rebecca left her helmet cradling her gloves on the counter and hung her armor over the back of the unoccupied chair stool. She looked over and saw a plaintive expression on Sam’s face as she was unlatching her own armor, and stepped over to help lift it clear.

"Thank you… my arms are jello right now." When Rebecca turned back from laying the armor flat on the table, Sam moved closer and put her arms around Rebecca’s waist. "It’s nice to be able to hug you without the superhero suits on."

"Yeah. Hi there." Rebecca rubbed her cheek against Sam’s hair and held her a moment, before fiddling with the zipper on the back of her wetsuit vest. Once that was open, she slid her hand under Sam’s three-quarter-sleeve shirt and started scratching her back, over the skin she knew would have indentations from where the fabric had bunched up under the neoprene.  
"Oh god." Sam arched her back like a cat and closed her eyes. "Have I mentioned I love you?"

"Not in the last hour or two." Rebecca finished a meandering circuit with her nails, tugged Sam’s shirt back in order, and kissed her on the cheek. "So now we have a dilemma in front of us. Do we eat or clean up first?"

"Yeah… hard choice." Her stomach growled at the thought of whatever food Allison had prepared in that pot.

Rebecca smiled in gentle amusement. "I wish we had more bread… you know, we are grownups, we can do whatever we want. We could actually eat now AND later."

A grin spread on Sam’s face. "That’s my clever girl." She practically skipped back to the kitchen and cracked the seal on the insulated pot while Rebecca took down a pair of glasses and started filling them from the hanging "campsite" style water filter by the sink. It turns out dinner was a simple but savory lentils and rice dish which they each quickly devoured a small bowl of. Sam pulled her spoon clear of her lips with a smack as she finished her last bite and looked at Rebecca again. "Okay, but who goes first?"

"You go ahead." Rebecca set her bowl down on the counter and reached for Sam’s. "I’ll get a fire going, and I want to wash my hair first."

"'kay." Sam leaned up for a quick kiss and then headed down the short hallway connecting the living room to the bedroom and bathroom. She came back with a couple of towels and left them on the counter for Rebecca, who had busied herself kindling the fire stove and smiled over her shoulder in appreciation of the gesture. Then, Sam lugged one of the crates of insulated water bottles after her and Rebecca heard the click of the bathroom’s lantern followed by the sounds of the tub faucet and clanking of bottles as Sam mixed them into the bath water.

Once the kindling was crackling away merrily and the larger chunks of wood were starting to blacken and char, Rebecca leaned into the bathroom with a scandalous wink and retrieved the lighter of her two robes, a simple cotton terry number and traded it with her grungy shirt. Taking a bottle of shampoo back to the kitchen, she closed the curtains behind the sink self consciously — no point in giving anyone an accidental show — and mixed hot water from one of the remaining bottles into a pot of cold from the tap. It was extremely pleasant to soak a washcloth and start wiping the grime away from her face and neck. She’d felt a little grungy ever since the firefight kicked all that dirt up around her, which mixed in with the gun smoke as she fired under the Humvee. Mmm, asphalt, brake and tire dust, and cordite. Not exactly what she wanted to rinse off into the rest of her limited bath water.

She shook one hand (mostly) dry to pet Rufus briefly as he nuzzled her leg curiously, then uncapped the shampoo and shrugged the robe down around her shoulders. Leaning over the sink, she used a small tumbler to wet down her hair for a preliminary rinse… she’d gotten enough practice that she rarely got water in her eyes, ears, or nose anymore thankfully, but dang if she didn’t miss a real shower. A small drop of shampoo made for enough lather, but it still turned out to be too much to rinse completely before she ran out of water in the initial bottle. She supposed she wasn’t fully proficient in the exercise after all, but figured she could rinse the rest out when it was her turn in the tub. At least it wouldn’t run into her eyes meanwhile.

Rufus had fled the stray water drops as she scrubbed her hair, but returned as she sat on the couch to wait for Sam to finish. Stroking the short but surprisingly soft brindled fur on the top of his head as he lay his chin on her knee added to the feeling of coziness and domestic safety separated from the world outside. Eventually, she heard the tub draining, and a brief burst of water again as Sam gave it a courtesy rinse with cold tap water, presaging her return to the front room wrapped in her own fluffy robe over her PJs.

Sam sat on the couch next to Rebecca, pulling a folded blanket down from the back and spreading it over her lap. Her hand touched Rebecca’s on Rufus’s head and caressed both of them lightly. "Your turn, sugar."

Now that they were both passably clean enough, Rebecca leaned over and nuzzled Sam’s cheek, kissing her properly for a second or two. "Thanks for helping me get through today."

"Of course. Shoo and finish getting clean if you don’t want to sleep on the couch, Rufus can always fill in for a night as bedwarmer."

"Exiling your poor kitchen strumpet when she’s too grubby for you. Harsh." Rebecca patted Rufus one last time, gliding her fingertips over the back of Sam’s as she departed, despite their mutual teasing.

She felt much better after draining the rest of Allie’s preheated bottles and mixing the tub to just slightly above a comfortable temperature — since it would only get cooler. There wasn’t quite enough for a pleasant soaking, but the thoughtful surprise sure let the both of them get clean a lot faster than if they’d had to heat their own bath water on a fire they didn’t even start until they got home. Allie really was a saint as far as Rebecca was concerned. (Granted, Leonard probably helped a lot too…)

Thinking about the upcoming baby gave Rebecca an effective combination of a topic that was both pleasant to think about and something still generally positive for her lingering anxiety to be distracted with… occupying her mind as she finished up and got dressed in her own comfy house-clothes. She’d be excited anyway, but especially after today. The kid might not get to see much beyond their little compound for a long time, but she’d be damned if anyone was going to get in and hurt it, and she sure as hell was going to keep trying to chip away at the madness outside. She tugged the collar of the robe forward with a determined glower as she exited the bathroom, but her expression softened when she saw a refilled bowl of lentils and rice waiting for her on the coffee table, covered by a cloth napkin. She looked up from it to Sam with an appreciative smile and tossed a pillow on the floor to sit across the table from her — and a little closer to the fire as her hair dried.

She made quick work of the second helping, watching Sam flip through her notebook in her lap and poke at the wrist PDA sitting on the couch next to her. When Rebecca had finished, she traded her spoon for her brush and started working it through her hair. "I see numbers getting crunched over there again. Penny?"

"Appropriate conversation prompt indeed, conductive metals and all." Sam looked up at her with a little grin, tapping her pen on the edge of the notebook. "So… assuming we don’t lose too many panels to breakage, and I don’t totally fuck up trying to hook them back up again… we’re going to have WAY more power than we know what to do with during peak hours. It’ll simply be coming in faster than I can put it into our existing storage."

"I mean, unless that’s going to be dangerous, it sounds like a good problem to have, right? Ow…" Rebecca winced at a particularly troublesome tangle but grit her teeth and worked it loose.

"Oh, yeah, I can connect things safely, our grid isn’t going to burst into flames if the sun is too bright. The fact the panels all have their own little micro inverter will help too, we can set up smaller distributed uses like a charging station or greenhouse lights much more easily. But things that were frivolous luxuries before… well, it suddenly makes sense to use power that would otherwise go to waste. We could run slow cookers, or water heaters or a TV, local wifi… interior lights, radio broadcasts… even refrigeration, if only for part of the day. Or a pump and some centralized drinking water treatment! Even some UV sterilizers… for the water, or for decon checkpoints…"

Rebecca was entertained by Sam’s infectious enthusiasm. "I had no idea there was so much potential right there the whole time. I wish I’d noticed, or remembered noticing them, a long time ago — talk about quality of life improvements." Rebecca rose from the pillow and took both of their bowls to the sink as she processed the news. "It’ll be nice to be able to charge up my car in a few hours instead of a couple of days. Maybe we could get electric heaters in the daytime, for the baby? So they don't have to grow up in the respiratory equivalent of a log cabin…"

Sam scooted over invitingly to make more room on the couch for Rebecca when she returned. "Maybe. We could do something like the stoves, warm up some big heat mass and let it radiate into the evening. That would be cool. I mean, you know." She waved her hand in mild irritation at the contradictory figure of speech.

With a chuckle, Rebecca settled next to her. "Yes, Rosie. I do know." She reached over and tucked a strand of Sam’s hair behind her ear, and smiled a little to herself at Sam’s reaction to her touch.

**

Sam shivered a little as Rebecca’s fingertips glided behind her ear, closing her eyes and leaning into it with a soft smile. It was nice to… have an off switch. A way to stop thinking for a while, even if, at least this time, her racing thoughts were productive. Her contemplative pen-twirling stopped, and she took a long, slow breath and let it out again. "Oh, Remy."

She felt Rebecca’s hand shift to support her cheek with her palm, and just enjoyed soaking up the moment of calm. Being single in all this mess was… okay. She was getting on well enough before Rebecca had taken that heart-skipping leap — maybe with just the teensiest bit of encouragement. This, right now, was nice, though. Not just feeling "safe", but doing it somewhere that wasn’t an underground cave, falling asleep in a less-than-half-refurbished utility room, by herself. She’d had friends, but nobody close enough that they shared a private retreat from the world outside. There were times she had to make excuses to delay working on a complicated circuit because she’d stayed up far too late reading until she was exhausted enough to fall asleep quickly in the cold dark by herself. She really wanted things with Rebecca to last, but even if they didn’t, she gave her credit for getting her out of that… "safe" dungeon and up into the sun and moon light. And, ah, shit. She opened her eyes and looked into Rebecca’s.

"Hey. Uhm, I… regret something I said earlier. About how if you shot Fucky McFuckface we might be done. I’m sorry, I was scared, and it was the fear talking. I don’t want you to think we’re on thin ice or something… or to hesitate when we’re in danger."

Rebecca blinked a couple of times and inclined her head thoughtfully. "I understand. I was really scared too. And, like I said… I’m glad you snapped me out of it. Anything you had to do, or say… I definitely prefer over the alternative."

Sam sighed away some tension she didn’t realize she was holding in. "Okay. I’m grateful today’s over. It was certainly productive, but…"

"… you wouldn’t call it 'good'? Me neither." Rebecca’s tone carried as much palpable warmth as her hand against Sam’s face.

"Mmm. Dishes tomorrow, bed and snuggles now?"

Rebecca glanced down at Rufus. "I better let him out for another quick pee before we settle for the night. Warm a spot for me?"

"Okay. Be careful, please?"

Rebecca lifted another hand to cradle Sam’s face with both palms, and leaned to touch her forehead against Sam’s. "I will. We’ve got guards, some technowiz babe rigged up some pretty Christmas lights everywhere as illumination, Rufus will be with me, and I’ll take my radio and sidearm."

Sam chuckled. "Sidearm, huh?"

"Yeah, yeah." Rebecca shifted forward just a quarter of an inch — much less distance than that first night those few months ago — and touched her lips to Sam’s for three, four, maybe five seconds but who’s counting… 

Sam unwittingly found herself trying to lean forward and follow Rebecca away when she withdrew and pouted with a longing moue. "Hurry back," she whispered softly.

"Okay." Rebecca snapped her fingers softly towards Rufus, and her voice rose to a normal volume. "Come on boy, let’s get you outside and back as quickly as we can." She disappeared into the bedroom briefly to pull a pair of sweatpants over her flannel pajamas, and as promised, retrieved her compact pistol, handheld flashlight, and radio handset from her armor when she returned.

Sam watched silently while Rebecca wrapped herself in a plum-colored, knee length puffy coat and slouchy knit beanie from the hooks near the door, and clicked Rufus’ leash onto his collar, only sighing and setting her notebook aside once the door closed.

And to think Rebecca wondered if she was enough for Sam. Silly goose, Sam was utterly and hopelessly hooked on her. She rose and moved to the fireplace, shoving a new chunk of hardwood in, checking the battery on the carbon monoxide detector nearby, and slipping on a pair of oven mitts. It took her three trips to take the six bricks arrayed on top of the fireplace to the bedroom and tuck them into the blankets — she averaged two trips most nights, but her legs were in far better shape than her arms tonight. She briefly wished they’d had enough stamina to bring up the bags of books from the Humvee, they’d have been interesting to poke through while she waited, but… oh well. She busied herself gathering their laundry from the day, then moving her SMG and radio to the bedroom, connecting the latter to the battery pack they used to top off the radios or other devices overnight.

She paused by the mirror they’d mounted in the bedroom and held a lantern up to get a better look at her mouth — the bruise wasn’t looking too bad, and she hadn’t even felt it when Rebecca kissed her a bit ago. Good, the last thing she needed was another scar to match the thin little hairline stripe of lighter skin that crossed her upper lip from when she fell off a swing as a kid. Surely Rebecca noticed it by now and never mentioned it, so Sam didn’t feel too self conscious, but still didn’t want to get a fresh one in the age of finite cosmetics.

The lock turned when she was reaching under the covers to move the bricks around, and she smiled at the rustling of Rebecca’s familiar movements and Rufus’ toenails occasionally clicking on the few stretches of exposed concrete subfloor between the rugs liberally distributed around the apartment. Sam returned to the front room to greet them, and helpfully took Rebecca’s coat while she warmed herself at the fire.

Rebecca noticed Sam watching her while she put the jacket away for her. "What?"

Sam smiled enigmatically as she threaded past the stool holding Rebecca’s armor and slid her arms around her waist when she arrived. "Just admiring the view. I appreciate you."

"Mmm. I appreciate the irony of stealing some of YOUR body heat for once."

Sam gasped and squirmed as Rebecca bent to bury her cold nose in the small of her neck, but didn’t pull away. The mild discomfort paled compared to the emotional appeal of providing bodily comfort to the person she was in love with. In fact, she felt her pulse quicken, and on a less exhausted night she might have physically suggested a quick roll in the hay. Maybe that was some of the thrill people got from vampire romances? For now though… "Just you wait, I’m going to get you back with interest. But… can it be bedtime now? Please? I’m exhausted."

"Mmm." Rebecca lifted her head and stifled a yawn. "You don’t have to ask twice…"

Sam raised an eyebrow. "I just did, that was the second time!"

"Oh, bah! You and your math…" Rebecca released her, and they started towards the bedroom, turning off lamps as they went with a quick pause in the bathroom to brush their teeth by lantern-light.

Despite the gentle sparring, they huddled close to each other as they burrowed deep under the blankets and Rufus curled up at the foot of the bed. When Rebecca stirred with a whimper in the darkest hours of the night, Sam felt for her in the dark and slid an arm under her to cradle Rebecca’s head on her shoulder, shushing gently and stroking her hair well past the time when her embracing arm fell asleep. When she carefully threaded it back out and lowered Rebecca’s head to a pillow, Sam could just make out her soothed expression and slightly parted lips, and resettled close enough to enjoy the sound of her soft breathing as she closed her own eyes. It was a fitting antidote to those memories of lonely nights in her underground workshop. In the morning, Rebecca wouldn’t recall details from the dream, but she did remember being lulled back to sleep by Sam’s gentle touch.

**

Rufus’ need for a morning potty trip was their familiar wakeup — a far deal more pleasant than the abrupt pre-dawn alarm the day before. Without the energy to stage a breakfast for easy preparation in the morning, they allowed themselves a dip into their moderate back stock of freeze-dried camping / survivalist food, rehydrating it with the water heated by the morning fire revival. Rebecca used the rest to wash their dishes and the pot from the night before while Sam collected Allison’s bottles and stowed them in the crates again.

After bundling themselves up again, they returned the gifted containers to the Youngs’ doorstep, not wanting to risk waking Allison if she was still sleeping. Rebecca hated returning the pot empty, picturing her mother shaking her head disapprovingly at her over the poor manners, but swore to find a way to repair their thoughtfulness down the road. (She’d heard from friends in the past that bringing food over to a newborn’s parents was a big help, so she underlined a previous mental note about doing so.) It looked like a similar care package had been dropped off for Patrick and Christine, as they spotted familiar handwriting on a thank-you note on a similar small stack of crates at the door.  
Downstairs, they set their guns down on a workbench in the morning sun and Rebecca helped Sam offload the solar panel still in the Humvee to the same table. She gave the unfired Vector a quick once-over to make sure it hadn’t been affected by the scuffle, then set into field-stripping Felicia and cleaning the barrel and other internals. Meanwhile, Sam laid out the wiring harness for the solar panel and studied it them both, occasionally lobbing a tennis ball for Rufus to chase and jotting cryptic numbers and symbols down in her notebook.

Patrick returned Rebecca’s partially spent magazine, reloaded with what had been left of her matching ammunition. With the time saved by Allie’s surprises, he’d apparently transferred it all back over one round at a time last night while Christine bathed. He joined Rebecca and quickly serviced his M4, under her watchful eye as she paused to supervise. Some of the familiar scuff marks on it reminded her of old adventures with Ronnie in an oddly nostalgic way.

She sent him on his way a short while later, and while Sam was starting to connect instruments to the solar panel’s outputs, Rebecca saw Epstein walk by with a pair of Cat’s people. She overheard him emphasize that they should find a transmission cooler for their "hillbilly armored" gun truck before the weather got warmer, assuring them that he could help install it once they had the right parts. He nodded at the two women as he passed, and Rebecca couldn’t help picturing him tipping a hat in some fancy gentleman’s outfit — or cowboy attire… and asked him to stop by later when he had a minute. Hopefully he could look at her car while he was there, like Ronnie suggested.

Rhonda eventually came by too — Rebecca had spotted her in the distance a few times, but she seemed pretty busy circulating amongst the crews that were offloading the large cargo truck and trailers attached to two of the Humvees. Since the day before, she’d traded her combat gear for an earth-toned beanie and a woodland camouflage field jacket with a thick liner. 

"Hey girls. Sleep well?"

Rebecca nodded. "Like logs. Good morning, mama bear." It was nice to drop some of the formality she’d been maintaining with the troops around. "What about you?"

"Eventually. Lots to oversee getting stuff squared away for the night, and keeping an ear on the team at the armory. Fairbanks and Tierman are thinking about making it a permanent outpost, expanding our area of influence."

Sam tossed Rufus’ ball intentionally towards Ronnie’s feet so he’d trot over and beg for a throw. "Sounds like they might need to find more competent sergeants to get everything done."

Rhonda gave Rufus a couple of thumps on his side and then sent his ball flying with the same throwing arm Rebecca had seen her lob grenades with. "Or ambitious civilians. We may have to get used to the idea of squads indirectly reporting to local officials as we rebuild."

Rebecca shook her head and leaned back, oily gloved hands up in front of her defensively. "Oh, leave me out of that for now."

Ronnie grinned, expecting something along those lines. "Amira can probably fill those boots for now."

"Thank god. How’re things after yesterday, everybody okay?" Rebecca could tell Ronnie was looking over the components she’d broken Felicia down to, habitually inspecting her work.

"Yeah, no casualties. One tire, a few windshields, nothing Epstein can’t oversee the repairs of."

"What about ammo? That was a lot of shooting in the morning, I used about 30 rounds and this…" (she gestured towards the parts in front of her on the table) "…isn’t a machine gun."

Ronnie leaned on the edge of the workbench. "Well, the 40 mil grenades are scarce, but I’m not about to fuck around when someone’s throwing Molotovs. We have a little under a hundred, they’ve got a little more than that at the airport. For the other mounted guns, they brought a bunch of fifty and 7.62 up from the training facilities they got the Amtracs at, and there’s still the stock left over we pillaged from Black Tusk. You know that big asshole we took down in the tunnel? He still had a good four hundred-plus rounds all by himself even after all the noise he made. For small arms, most of the dismounts didn’t fire much more than you did, actually."

Rebecca paused her work. "Really? It sounded like there was so much more going on."

Ronnie nodded, her arms casually folded across her chest. "It gets amplified in an urban street like that. Would you believe that was all over in less than three minutes?"  
"Intellectually, yeah. Adrenaline and weird perception of time under stress, blah blah blah. But my lizard brain is skeptical."

"Now that I think about it, there’s probably enough 7.62 for you to start practicing with that bigger rifle. I know you adore this one, but it doesn’t pack as much of a wallop." Ronnie chuckled at Rebecca’s skeptical face, then shifted her focus to Sam. "So Red, how’s it look? Worth the effort?"

Sam braced her hands on her hips and arched her back in a stretch, which got a couple of good pops that Rebecca could hear from across the tables. "Yeah. If we could find a licensed electrician, that would be awesome… but…"

Rebecca smiled as Sam proceeded to rattle off many of the ideas from the night before, much to Rhonda’s amusement as well. She could tell which ones Ronnie was particularly interested in by the occasional, familiar, quiet grunt that wasn’t quite a "Huh" or "Hmm". It was very much like how Ronnie responded when Rebecca noticed something in the distance first, back when they were camped out in sniper nests around Broadway the year before, and tickled a nostalgia Rebecca wasn’t really aware of until just then. Maybe they could spend some time on a watch shift while Sam was busy with the solar panels in a few days? That’d be nice.

Her thoughts, and attention to Sam’s conversation with Rhonda, were interrupted by Allison exiting one of the building’s exterior doors with a mesh laundry bag slung over one shoulder. Rebecca quickly snapped the last few pieces into place to reassemble Felicia and function tested everything twice, then plucked and tugged the reusable gloves off. Before scampering off to intercept Allison, she paused to rest her hands on Sam’s shoulders and kiss the back of her head and smile at Ronnie, then quickly caught up to Allie.  
"Hey, good morning. Where’s Leonard, why isn’t he doing that?"

Allison smiled warmly at her, like always. "Rebecca, dear. I’m pregnant, not invalid. It’s still good for me to move around on the better days. Plus, it keeps be from going stir crazy."

Rebecca pressed her lips together thinly and tried to repress her urge to fret as they walked towards the clotheslines strung between the greenhouses, all positioned for optimal sun exposure. "Well… okay. But at least let me help you? It’s the least I can do after your surprise last night — and thank you very much for that. It was lovely to just be able to relax."

"If it will assuage your guilty conscience, very well." Allie slid the laundry bag from her shoulder and passed it to Rebecca — who was dismayed at how heavy it was with the clothes inside still damp. "And you’re welcome, you were all out there working to improve life here, for us and for our child, so that’s how we wanted to do our part." She paused when they reached the clotheslines and looked at Rebecca intently. "We were listening to the radio, it sounded rough out there in the morning. Are you okay?"

Rebecca opened the laundry sack and held it up for Allie to withdraw the garments and towels one at a time. "Yeah. Things were a bit scary, but once we reached the armory, it was pretty quiet and productive."

Allie tilted her head and looked back at her from hanging a shirt. "Once you reached the armory… after you were going to be at your apartment. Were things unpleasant there?"

All these observant people Rebecca had apparently managed to surround herself with… "There was a couple living there, and they seemed okay at first, but for whatever reason the guy tried to take Sam’s gun. She trounced him thoroughly, but I was really on edge afterwards."

"Hmm." Allison arched one eyebrow slightly. "It’s interesting, the way people’s character comes out when they’re scared. What a dumbass. But I’m glad you’re alright. Even if he’d briefly gotten the upper hand, I’m sure you would have all taken good care of each other. That doesn’t stop me from worrying of course." She reached for the next item from the laundry.

"Me neither. But you knew that already." Rebecca was a little surprised to hear the mild profanity from Allie, but not entirely shocked. She could toss some good bombs out when it was appropriate… which Rebecca supposed was fairly frequent the way life was those days.

Allison glanced back towards Sam and Ronnie. "Yes, dear. I do. Did you get anything worthwhile for your trouble?"

"Books and photos, my old favorite sweater, my laptop and Playstation… Sam thinks we’re gonna have a surprising amount of power during the day once all the panels are up, so maybe those’ll be usable again. I thought being able to play a few games would make Nate happy."

Allison tossed a pillowcase over the line and looked back at Rebecca. "There you go again. You’re always thinking of others."

Rebecca shrugged. "I guess I don’t really know how else to go about things. Everything I want these days involves Sam, Rufus, Ronnie, you and Leonard, a community. Beyond food and basic safety, I mean."

"I know what you mean, dear. You said want, that means fulfillment, stuff at the top of the pyramid of needs. I’m just glad you’re surrounded by people who care for you too."

"Hm," Rebecca half-chuckled. "Yeah." Her eyes went a little distant. "Thank you for everything over the last year, Allie. Everything you’ve done to take care of me."

Allison knew she was mostly talking about helping her survive the first few months of losing Jaime, and welcoming her return with the new friends she’d brought back with her. "You don’t need to keep thanking me, Rebecca. It was the right thing to do, I would for anyone. But, it makes me happy to do it for you. Listen, like you sort of said, I know we’re coming up on a year. Assuming I’m keeping track of dates properly, I think it’s less than a week away, right? Are you okay?"

Rebecca half-smiled. "I mean, no, but yes. For certain values of okay. It hurts to think about, but like you said, I have lots of good people around me. It just rewinds the slowly fading ache, you know?"

Allison patted her hands. "I do. Here, help me with this sheet. Do you have any plans?"

Rebecca took the far corners of the bedsheet and helped Allison hang it. "Not really… I just… didn’t want to be here, initially. Maybe off looking for our families, but now… with all the panels to hook up, Sam will probably be busy here for a long time."

Allison was silent for several seconds, a contemplative expression on her face. "Well… I have two thoughts about that. On one hand… remember that Leonard’s no idiot with a screwdriver. We all put our heads together to build our early charging setup before you brought that little genius of yours home, and he can certainly repeat steps she shows him. Plus, keep in mind there’s plenty of other work to be done that isn’t wiring — we’ll need to build frames or something to put them on, right? But that’s not the second thing. My other thought is that… going off to find your family, that could end really well. But it could also be setting yourself up for another heartbreak while you’re already on tricky ground."  
Rebecca nodded. "I admit it feels a little like running away.""Who says there’s anything wrong with an instinct to run away from pain? It’s natural. But, there might be something to be said for working through the hurt. I don’t mean therapy and introspection and what have you, though those are all important. But like people who exercise when they’re unhappy, throwing yourself into something worthwhile, time consuming, that demands your involvement and focus. You end up with something to look back at despite it, something positive to stand on when you face it, to be proud of, maybe even that he’d be proud of."

Rebecca turned that idea over in her head a few times, studying it, contemplating Allie’s points. "There might be something to that. Dedicating something to him…"

"Sure. I don’t want to tell you what’s right for you. Just some ideas to consider."

By this point, they’d finished hanging the laundry. Rebecca turned the bag inside out and clipped it to the clothesline. "Allie, if you want me to stop thanking you for things, you really should stop doing stuff like that!"

Allison laughed, and they made their way back to the door small-talking about the changes to the compound around them. When Allison looked back at Rebecca as she started to follow her from the door, Rebecca shook her head. "You don’t think I’m going to leave you to walk up four and a half flights of stairs on your own do you?"

Allie smirked at her. "You don’t think Leonard would let me walk down them alone, do you? He’s just been in the cold storage pantry while I hung the laundry, probably counting on some silly person to rush over and help me just because of my visible baby bump."  
Rebecca laughed, and shook her head, hanging it in mock dismay. "Okay. Well let me at least keep you company as far as the storerooms."

"Fine, but if you do anything further to imply I’m just a poor helpless pregnant woman, I’ll give you what for, young lady."

"OKAY, mom."

Allison rested her hand on Rebecca’s forearm, and spoke after a moment. "I hope you find her, Rebecca."

Rebecca let out a long breath and folded her arm such that Allie’s hand lay in the crook of her elbow, placing her other hand over it as they walked. "Thanks, Allie."

**

Sam looked up from tinkering with the solar panel and her multimeter and greeted Rebecca cheerfully when she returned to the workbenches. "Hi cutie. Good chat with Allie?"

Rebecca felt a slight blush on her cheeks at Sam’s initial tone. "Yeah, catching her up on yesterday’s events, and thanking her for the welcome-home surprise. She seems to be feeling pretty good today."

"Nice. I’m glad to see she’s up and around."

"And feeling pretty feisty too." Rebecca briefly unlatched the pins holding Felicia together to recheck her work one more time, then started cleaning up her work area, packing cleaning picks and brushes back into a plastic box and rolling up the mat she’d laid out. After setting all that in a tidy pile next to the rifle and SMG, she sidled over next to Sam. "So… we were so tired last night, we didn’t get to talk a lot. How did your afternoon go, poking at the panels and all?"

Sam chuckled. "My arms are still pretty dead. But, it’ll be nice to hook several of these babies into our grid and get an idea for how that all works out before doing it en masse with the rest of them. I think we got eight or ten into the truck? Epstein seemed pretty stoked about some of the parts and tools he scored while we were messing around up above. Here, tilt that edge up so it faces into the sun more? I want to see how much variance there is based on angle."

Rebecca obliged, tilting the new panel up to about a sixty degree tilt so it was facing the sun almost dead-on. "How was it up in the bucket truck anyway? It seemed like a pretty tight squeeze with both of you in it for a while there."

Sam grinned. "What, are you worried?""Not like that… I just wanted to make sure he wasn’t, like, bothering you or being a creeper."

"Aww." Sam relented and stopped teasing her. "No, he was a perfect gentleman about things. Calls anyone he’s not bossing around 'brother' or 'sister', made as much room for me as he could, kept his hands to himself. It was fine. How was your time up on the roof with Pat?"

"Pretty chill, though that’s no surprise with him involved. We chatted a little, I asked about how he ended up in his little post apocalyptic career, some of the shit that he heard went down with people trying to get out of D.C. — he had a good point about how fear makes decent people into idiots and shitheads. Not quite his words. But… even on the way home we saw some of that. Did you notice the fenced-in camp with the guard towers?"

The way Sam paused her work while she replied with a sigh hinted at some significant dismay. "Ugh… yeah. Jesus. Crazy part is that I can actually see the logic behind the idea of forcible quarantine. Assuming you can actually find the right balance and not just lock more people in, guaranteeing they get sick too."

"Sorry. I didn’t mean to spoil the mood."Sam smiled sadly at her and glanced at Rufus, throwing the slobbery ball again for him before returning her attention to the power meter. "Eh. It’s okay."

"See, you’re not scolding me for apologizing…"

Instead, Sam elbowed her in the ribs and stuck her tongue out at her.

**

Sam thought there was something fitting about using the first few solar panels to charge the cordless drills and saws they needed to build scaffolding for the rest of the array. The next few days were filled with construction sounds echoing between the buildings — power tools, hammering, lumber clattering together. Cat and her people even stuck around to chip in — excited at the prospect of having somewhere to plug in an arc welder, apparently, though Sam had some opinions about them guzzling that much current without careful planning.

She spent a lot of time wiring the first full truckload of panels into the grid, taking the time to ensure they could be detached quickly and brought indoors on short notice whenever the next storm blew through. She was glad to have some competent hands to do the initial passes, but still felt a self-inflicted pressure to check everyone’s work — especially after she found a few small mistakes that might have fried valuable components, even if a real fire was unlikely.

She and Rebecca didn’t see much of each other during the day, and mostly spent those nights in a routine of eating, cleaning, and lots of sleeping… but the shared domesticity was enough time together to keep their spirits up. While Sam was busy, Rebecca got her wish, and got to spend an afternoon pacing the rooftop with Ronnie.

Rhonda chuckled when Rebecca told her she missed the old times a little. "You’ve come a long way, kiddo. You should be proud of yourself."

Rebecca half-turned her head away from the view to grin at Ronnie. "Not that far, technically. Several miles maybe, in a pretty convoluted set of loops."

The soft creaking sound of Rhonda’s armor as she walked was comfortingly familiar. "You never used to sass me this much, for example. At least you don’t do it in front of the troops, I appreciate that."

"I guess Sam is rubbing off on me. I’d apologize, but… like I said, she’s rubbing off on me."

"I’m going to pass up the opportunity to make a crass comment there, but things are good?"

"Yeah." Rebecca caught herself smiling for a moment while they walked. "I think we’re moving out of the shiny honeymoon stage, but settling into a solid, constructive relationship." She let out a long relieved sigh. "It seems to do us both a lot of good."

"Nice." They stopped as they reached one corner of the building, and Rhonda scanned the neighborhood through a pair of binoculars. "Listen, are you two still thinking of looking for your parents?"

"I guess so… we were pretty focused on my place, the armory, and the solar panels first. We’ve only thought about the family search in general terms." Rebecca’s brow crinkled as she looked more intently at Ronnie, noticing she was staring off to the northeast once she lowered the binoculars, towards D.C. "Wait, why?"

"What you told me Sam said on the drive back… about all the bad things having happened already. She’s right about the past being the past, but… the madness isn’t over yet. I’ve been hearing reports about the lingering fallout in big cities. D.C., Baltimore, Philly, New York."

A worried frown settled on Rebecca’s face. "What do you mean, fallout? Is the Dollar Flu back?"

Rhonda sighed. "No, not like it originally was. There’s always the chance of another outbreak, but… if it happens, it’s going to be because of fucked up people trying to make it come back. That’s what I’m getting at. Asymptomatic carriers trying to infect other people. Nerve gas used on civilian settlements. Suicide bombers, lynchings, people being burned alive."

"Jesus, Ronnie. If you’re trying to scare the shit out of me so we don’t go, you’re on the right track. You’re making me think we aren’t safe here either too…"

"Sorry, kiddo. It’s not as bad out here in the smaller towns and suburbs. Sure, people are preying on each other, and there’s lawlessness like we saw the other day, but it seems the overall devastation and amount of societal collapse is tied to population density. Plus we’re digging in fast — Tierman is gonna take zero shit from anyone who rolls into town, especially once she and Zaman get their heads together on re-establishing some form of local government, providing backing and legitimacy."

Rebecca sat on a stack of sandbags for a moment and looked up at Ronnie. "Why are you telling me all this, why now, and so specifically?"

"You got me all wrong, kid. I’m not trying to scare you out of going. I think you need to go look for them. You said Sam’s place was only a little outside of town, right?"Rebecca nodded. "Yeah."  
Ronnie folded her hands atop the buttstock of her rifle, slung in front of her chest. "Well, it’s hard to know what you’ll find there, but it’s close enough to get to easily, especially if you tag along with a patrol, or one of Cat’s runs." She lifted one finger and waggled it in Rebecca’s general direction. "Your mom, if she was going to your uncle’s out in the wilderness, early enough…" She shrugged. "As long as they had enough to get by all this time, she probably had a good chance. With the shit everyone’s still doing to each other, if you have family out there, you need to go get them, bring them back to you, or let them know what’s going on out here so know what they need in order to stay safe… or hell, even stay with them, if that’s what’s best."

Rebecca’s mind reeled briefly. Sam’s home wasn’t that far away, but… people were gathering in settlements like this for a reason. It wasn’t safe or sustainable to be on your own for most people. What if her parents made it somewhere else, would she want to follow them? What if her own mom wanted her to stay out in the backwoods? She’d started to get comfortable here again, and the notion of having to choose to stay or not rapidly became overwhelming. "I… I’ll talk to Sam again, we’ll think about it. Thanks for being supportive. But.. Jesus. All that stuff you’ve been hearing. Don’t keep it bottled up, you know I’m already on the edge of worrying about you."

"I know kid. I promise if I start to come apart at the seams I’ll let you know, but let’s stop having that same conversation over and over again, okay?"Rebecca looked down, contrite. "Okay, sorry. Just, you’re one of the important foundations in my life.""And you want to hold onto those and make sure they’re solid, I get it. As long as we keep working to make our own little domain better, and safer, I’m good."

"Okay. I guess I better stop yapping and get back to keeping an eye out for badguys." Rebecca pushed off the sandbags and rose, glancing towards D.C. with a frown. A trace of it remained as they resumed their slow circuit of the roof, and she found herself studying the shadows more intently, even the familiar ones. She couldn’t shake the feeling that the awful things Ronnie described might not be so far away.

**

Their shift ended while there was still sun in the sky, and Rebecca found Sam down at the same workbenches they’d shared a few days prior. It looked like she had three vehicle radios in front of her, all open, two in significantly more severe states of disassembly than the third. Rebecca saw Sam roughly shove a pair of safety glasses to the top of her head — she could read the frustration in her posture, and removed her gloves as she approached.

The sound of the Velcro wrist cinches opening caught Sam’s attention, and she glanced back over her shoulder before returning a glare to the two large circuit boards in front of her. "Hey."

Rebecca sidled up behind her, lightly brushing her fingertips over Sam’s shoulders, sliding them under her neck-length titian red hair. Quickly assessing what she found, she started slowly kneading the tense muscles between Sam’s collarbones and shoulder blades, then worked upwards along the back of Sam’s neck with her thumbs. "Hey, Rosie. Something being stupid?"

Sam gestured across the two boards in front of her. "Trying to make one working mobile unit out of two broken ones, and the third one there is for reference. Sometimes I miss working on things that I knew would get smashed up a bit afterwards, it made setting the frustration aside easier."

"Mmm." Rebecca looked down over Sam’s shoulders, and could see several matching components had been desoldered from both boards. It looked like Sam was in the process of transplanting some from one radio to the other. "I would have thought you’d get more frustrated at something breaking that you’d just fixed for the third time."

Sam poked idly at a cylinder, perhaps half the size of a AAA battery… a capacitor, if Rebecca remembered correctly. "The fact it would wreck other things along the way helped with that." She sighed angrily, but her next breath hitched and released much slower as Rebecca’s thumbs found one of her reliable trigger spots. 

Rebecca knew that right where they attached to the base of her skull, Sam’s upper trapezius, splenius, and suboccipital muscles were usually a mess — just from the way Sam slumped a fraction of an inch at her touch, Rebecca knew her eyes were closed. "Another reason you keep me around."

"Whatever you want to tell yourself, just keep going," Sam mumbled.

Rebecca chuckled and lightly kissed the back of Sam’s head while she continued. A few minutes later, her hands were starting to tire, but she pushed on for a little longer before she slowed. "Okay, but that’s all I’ve got for now." She glided her hands down Sam’s neck in a tender sweeping motion out to her shoulders, then let go after an affectionate squeeze.

Sam took a deep breath and rolled her shoulders back. "You’re a liar, but I love you. That was more than your hands wanted to do."

Rebecca pondered for a moment whether Sam was just predicting her behavior or could feel the difference. "Yeah, okay. Busted." She leaned against the table, careful not to jostle all the parts, and smiled at Sam as their eyes met. "But I do think there’s enough left in them to offer you a third, or maybe even fourth hand if that would help you finish."  
A further measure of relief crept onto Sam’s face. "Now that would be lovely."

"And the little tune-up wasn’t?" Rebecca feigned offense, mock-scoffing as she stepped around to the far side of the large table. After a few moments doting on Rufus where he lay nearby, she unslung Felicia, doffed her jacket and armor, and stacked them all at the free end of the workbench. Then, she braced herself on the table, supporting most of her upper body weight on her abdomen and torso using a bunch of posture tricks Ronnie had taught her over the first few months of her apprenticeship. Elbows wide, shoulders low. Only propping herself up on them enough that slow breathing wouldn’t make her shift. She even cupped her left hand under her right, a modified version of how she might hold a pistol, to reduce hand tremble. Stabilized as she could manage, she nodded towards towards the bits and pieces on the table. between them. "Okay. Show me what to do."

Sam smiled appreciatively across at her, passing her a pair of forceps. "If you can help keep things still, it’ll be much easier for me to hold both the solder and iron. But first…" Sam slid her pair of safety glasses back on and nodded towards Rebecca’s gear. "Put your PPE back on before Ronnie chews me out, will ya?"

**

They finished just after sunset, with Rebecca shining a flashlight with her off hand. Both women slumped with relief when Sam connected the rebuilt board's power supply to a battery with a pair of alligator clips and the LCD screen on the front lit up.  
"Okay, that's good enough," Sam proclaimed. "Epstein and his guys can put the enclosures back together tomorrow."

"Oh good. We're going to have to hurry, Chris and Patrick are probably waiting for us." They'd all planned to make dinner together tonight, feeding Allison and Leonard too, as joint thanks for the welcome-back presents the other day.

Sam waggled a finger at her imperiously. "We're not going anywhere until we get our hands thoroughly cleaned. A lot of solder has lead in it, and I'm damned well not gonna eat something we cooked with that on our hands."

Rebecca made a sour face. "Or feed it to an expectant mother, either... yuck. Okay. Well, I wouldn't mind changing into something a little nicer before we go over anyway, y'know? Make a happy occasion out of it."

"I would hope you weren't going over in your battle gear, sugar. Allie's not that scary." Sam's frustration was draining away, and it felt good to tease Rebecca affectionately.

Rebecca's expression morphed into a smirk. "I dunno about that... if you don't want to see what a pregnant woman is like when she's hangry we'd better get a move on, shouldn't we?"

"Touché." Sam finished stacking the semi-complete radios in a plastic tote bin and closed the lid, leaving them sheltered from the elements until Epstein or one of his compatriots retrieved them. Rebecca helped her collect the soldering equipment, multimeter, and screwdrivers into a small tool bag, then loosely flopped her armor her her head and slid into the sleeves of her jacket. Rufus hardly needed a leash anymore when they were within the compound, which left their hands conveniently free for carrying her rifle and Sam's tools, and for opening the heavy exterior door to their building.

Cleaning up was a particularly thorough affair, with Rebecca literally up to her elbows in suds and lather since she'd been handling her tactical gear, which probably had all kinds of heavy metal and chemical residues lingering on them. The time made for a pleasant physical and mental transition, setting the hard edges of the world aside as she brushed her hair by lantern-light and swapped her outdoorsy hiking shirt for a comfortable 3/4 sleeve tunic top — hastily, before too many goosebumps could form in the chill.

When she picked up her old lavender cardigan — hand-washed and well-aired — she relished the distantly familiar softness of the angora yarn in her hands. As she wrapped herself in it, she ran her hands over the material again with a sigh as she studied her reflection in their bedroom mirror. In the dim light, she could almost pass for a nicely-dressed student, excited to know where she'd been admitted for grad school, wondering how she was going to pack a TA job in amongst her own course schedule.

That was never going to happen now... but at least they could have some nice moments now and then. Even with all the horrible things Ronnie'd told her were happening out in the darkness, maybe even right now. Damn. She was going to have a hard time pushing those thoughts down during dinner. She supposed the unpleasant news made it even more important to try to cling to the nice things... her friends, Sam, Rufus, their comfortable — and at least for now, safe — home.

She managed well enough at dinner. The company was exquisitely pleasant, and the meal simple but hearty. Christine had managed a very competent marinade on a cut of venison, Patrick did her effort justice cooking it, and the rice Sam and Rebecca had dressed up with some of Allie's "canned" peas from the growing season soaked up the surplus juices . The surprisingly excellent bottles of "old world" wine Allison insisted the rest of them share — even if she couldn't partake — carried a surprising punch. It left Rebecca cuddling woozily with Sam on the couch during the post-meal game of charades, and giggling near the point of tears when they followed up with several rounds of Cards Against Humanity.

They'd discussed Ronnie's encouragement to go looking for family members, though Rebecca heavily filtered some of the details Ronnie had relayed to her, not wanting to ruin the mood for everyone else — or even think about them much herself. Unsurprisingly, Christine had ardently volunteered herself and Patrick to accompany them, launching into a brief lecture about letting them help her before Sam assured her Rebecca was finally starting to come around about that kind of thing.  
**  
The next day, Sam was stricken with a migraine that left her miserable and barely functional. Fortunately, providing a dark, cool room for her to convalesce in was really easy those days.  
Rebecca returned from the bathroom with a wet washcloth and lay it across Sam's forehead and eyes, tenderly brushing her bangs out of the way. "Do you want to break into the Excedrin? We still have a bottle and a half."

"Nngh. No, let's save it for when we really, really need it." Sam paused for a breath or two. "I've had worse, at least I don't think I'm going to throw up this month. Fucking hormones."  
Rebecca patted Sam's hand. "I sympathize. The withdrawal migraines when we started to run out of my Effexor were brutal."

Sam grunted and was quiet for a while, before following Rebecca's forearm up by feel, under the shawl Rebecca was wrapped in, to where that same old racerback top left her shoulder bare. Sam pensively traced her fingers over the ragged scar left behind from a tumbling ricochet during Patrick and Christine's rescue. "I hope we're doing the right thing, going out there."

Rebecca lifted her other hand to rest it over Sam's, though she lay it outside of the shawl. "That's not a problem for now, hon. You just try to sleep and fast-forward through it, okay? I'll bring you a snack and some water later. Food usually helps you on the rebound, once you're through the worst."

Sam sighed and relented, caressing Rebecca's shoulder lightly before dropping her hand back to the bed. "Okay. Thanks, sugar. I'll call weakly if I need you to drill a hole in my head and let the demons out."

Rebecca chuckled and gave Sam's hand a passing stroke as she pivoted off the bed to her feet. She shooed Rufus out in front of her — he was usually pretty good about being chill when he was laying at the foot of the bed, but she didn't want him disturbing Sam if he hopped down to get a drink or something. Closing the door most of the way behind them, she made her way to the kitchen and sent a grateful thought Christine's way for covering one of her work shifts so she could stay with Sam. Meanwhile, Rebecca figured she'd get a pot of rice cooking as quietly as she could — maybe mix it with some eggs and soy sauce when it was done — and poke through some of the books they'd brought back from her apartment.

That last bit didn't work out so well. Her copy of All the Light We Cannot See was too emotionally heavy... The Pioneer Woman Cookbook didn't engage her enough... maybe because so many of the recipes weren't practical given what they had available? And, Sam had loaned the chronicles of Mark Watney's adventures on Mars to Nate. She really hoped he didn't get dreams of being an astronaut from it... god knows if/when humans would make it into space again. What happened to the people up on the ISS? They had a permanently docked Soyuz as an escape pod they could have used once supplies ran out, right? But was there anyone to guide them down? Hopefully someone made the call to bring them home before the lights went out at mission control.

Meh. She tried to push that kind of mental wandering aside. Despite feeling a bit like an old maid for it, she resigned herself to knitting on the couch with her dog. Rufus rested his head on her knee while she listened to the pot simmer and the fire crackle few feet away. He was a good boy... but she was worried what they would do if he got hurt or sick. No vets around, that she knew of. Maybe one out in the countryside somewhere had a sufficient level of medical knowledge and paranoia to isolate early, but good luck finding them. He looked up without lifting his head when she sighed, and she smiled at his big brown eyes and gave him a quick stroke between rows of knitting. She wasn't good a the whole suppressing intrusive thoughts thing today. Or counting her stitches, dammit. She set the needles in her lap and fumbled for the crochet hook sitting on the table, disturbing Rufus's comfortable lazing as she leaned forward.

"Sorry, boy. Let's see if I can remember how to fix a dropped stitch like Jaime's mom showed me to, huh?" She held her hands still for a moment. "Ah, fuck. That's not gonna help with the glum thoughts, is it?"

She frowned intently at the offending loop of yarn in the mediocre window light, sitting back with a sigh when she finally had everything in order again — much to Rufus' relief.  
What day was it today, anyway? Either three, maybe four days shy of a year now. She'd hooked up with Sam (and then settled into a Relationship) months ago, and that felt... a little early, but also very needed at the time, and like the "right" thing for her now.

She was clearly still healing, even if the bleeding had stopped and the wound had closed... much like the scar Sam had been gently poking at just a bit ago. A decent parallel, really. Both might healed over on the surface, but with lingering tissue damage underneath, or foreign matter that just couldn't be cleaned properly given the circumstances and tools available.  
Bah. She rested her fingers on the small lump of Jaime's St. Christopher medallion where it hung against her sternum — on Sam's gold chain. In a few months, it'd be more time since he died than she'd been with him.

It was very kind of Sam to accept how much she shared Rebecca's headspace with his ghost, but Rebecca still sometimes felt like it was unfair to her. The one time Rebecca'd brought it up, Sam didn't even "shut up, dummy" her like usual. Instead, she just patiently explained that Rebecca's big heart (that Sam loved her for) meant grieving hurt longer, and that it was natural to miss him. But that just made Rebecca want to be better for her even more. 

It was sometimes odd, Rebecca was the psych major, the one who grew up without a dad for the later part of her childhood, and here was Sam with the mature and well-balanced view on healing after loss. Go figure. Everybody who was left these days was probably getting to be a bit of a professional at it, she supposed.

Enough of that. She clung to the thread of positive emotion of gratitude surrounding Sam and tried to use it to guide her thoughts. Packing for their trip? Yeah, that was a good task to feed her brain. Even if they didn't know quite when they were going, she could start planning what to take with them. Originally a two hour drive... call it two days each way, given the amount of probable clusterfuckery on the highways, detours they'd need to take. Well within the range of a fully fueled Humvee or whatever Ronnie told them to take... she'd learned the hard way that her old hybrid was better suited to urban or hilly driving. A long cruise on flat ground would just turn the electric side of things into dead weight once the battery ran down. Plus, unarmored, and the engine trouble Allie reported. 

Rebecca felt a little pang of sadness and hoped they'd be able to get it running smoothly again, it had been a trusty little companion even before the dire times.

**

Rebecca had been happy when a convoy pulled in two afternoons later, just before sunset, with almost all of the remaining solar panels. (Apparently some were being kept at the armory, which was being fortified as an outpost.) It was clear she wasn't getting her initial wish of being somewhere else for the anniversary of Jaime's murder, but... an imminent day of hard work to keep her busy... it felt like Allie had the right idea, as usual.

Yeah, there were times where she stopped to catch her breath and had to fight back surges of emotion that snuck up on her, but Sam was always right there when she stared in the direction of the drainage tunnel and sighed, always with the kind looks or hand on her back. Patrick, Christine, Leonard, even Allie seemed to be making a point of being nearby more than usual, but considerately didn't impose their presences directly.

When Rebecca regained her focus and was able to keep her thoughts to pleasant memories of their initial steps to make a home there — just the two couples trying to stay sane and safe while society burned around them — it made the aches more manageable. It felt good to be contributing to a legacy for him. At one point after Ronnie checked in on her (without it necessarily looking like she was checking in on her, but she was...), Rebecca frowned before going back to work, and wondered if the delivery's timing had been specifically planned. She wouldn't put it past Ronnie... or her and Sam, working together.

The weather was surprisingly pleasant — on a more lackadaisical day, mid-sixties would still have her lightly bundled. Today though, with the exertion of carrying panels upstairs, or hefting them up onto scaffoldings over parts of the courtyard, and using a manual ratchet wrench to tighten them in place, the cool air was downright comfortable on her bare arms after she rolled up her shirt sleeves.

Sam made an appreciative "welcome to the gun show" comment when Rebecca brought her a pair of panels at the next cluster's location. When Rebecca glanced down, she had to admit that her biceps were indeed looking better than they ever had, bracing the awkward load against her hip like that. But… she felt bad when she caught Christine's guilty glance at her scar when the couples gathered for lunch midday.

"You know what I miss," Rebecca mused, trying to change the subject in Christine's head. "Turkey. Like, sliced deli meat turkey. Smoked, honey roasted, pepper, whatever. And cheese. Just... gimme a goddamned sandwich."

It seemed to work — Chrissie glanced down at the uncovered bowl she and Patrick were sharing and made a face. "Churros, still hot, before they get all gross. Cinnamon sugar that got everywhere but and so damned worth it."

Sam scoffed when Rebecca glanced at her. "Coffee, duh. And guac. But not at the same time."  
Rebecca made a mock gagging noise, then turned to Patrick. "What about you, Pat?"

He shrugged. "Watermelon, I guess."

The girls all looked at him in disbelief, and Rebecca laughed. "Watermelon, seriously?"

Chrissie rolled her eyes. "Oh god. Leave it to you to pick the easy thing. All you have to do is find some seeds and plant them. How is that a big loss to mourn?"

Patrick defended himself indignantly. "Where am I going to find viable seeds? And it's not like Virginia is prime growing territory for them!"

Rebecca laughed at their comedy act, smiling at Sam when she started laughing too. Tiring herself out and spending the day with friends was a good salve for the day's renewed ache around memories of Jaime. Time was just a construct anyway, right? Weekdays, weekends, they weren't really meaningful things anymore. It was just one day after another of staying alive, staying sane, and trying to chip away at improving their situation.

Sam noticed her smile and returned it, laying a hand atop Rebecca's with a subtle pat. It was packed with meaning, a small gesture to say "I'm glad you're okay", "I'm here if you're not", "You're important to me."

A handful of hours and several newly available kilowatts later, Sam gently encouraged Rebecca to stop looking for more physical labor to throw herself at, telling her she needed to save a little energy to clean up and climb all those stairs in the evening. They took their dinner up to the garden to sit by Jaime's memorial, and Rebecca was surprised when Ronnie joined them shortly after they'd cracked the seal on a bottle of wine. She even took a swig when they passed it over while Rebecca was telling a few stories about happy memories with Jaime.

As the evening grew late, Sam suggested they give Rebecca a couple of minutes alone, told Rufus to stay at Rebecca's side, and led Ronnie over to the small lobby area just inside of the interior patio's main door. 

"Thanks for stopping by, it probably means a lot to her. It also makes it a little less awkward for me, just sitting here as the replacement."

Rhonda nodded. "Of course. I'm glad to see she's okay, more or less."

"If she wasn't a little sad, I'd be worried, right?" Sam glanced back into the courtyard, where she saw Rebecca sitting next to Jaime's memorial with her hand on the small cairn. "But, yeah. Today could have gone a lot worse."

"Seems that's a good baseline to hope for these days. A below-average level of shitty."

"Truer words, Sarge."

They fell silent for a few minutes and watched Rebecca, until she rose to her feet and shuffled over to the entryway. Sam held the door open and used the end of her sleeve to dab the corner of Rebecca's eye where some moisture lingered. "Hi, sugar."

Rebecca smiled halfheartedly. "Thanks for waiting, and for being here, you two."

Rhonda patted her on the back and Sam took her hand as they walked down the hallway. It had been a big project to winch a roll of industrial carpeting up to the roof and then bring lengths of it down one floor, but having even that roughly lain floor covering added much to the hospitality. Rebecca paused with surprise when Ronnie wished them a goodnight and opened a door that wasn't to the radio room.

"You moved up here, Ronnie?"

"Yeah, to be closer to the comms station. It's only temporary though, since it'll probably get relocated and merged with the garrison’s."

Rebecca supposed it made sense, with Rhonda seeming to organically take on more responsibility — maybe even military command — around their settlement... but she hoped the growing role wouldn't take her friend and mentor away. "Okay. Goodnight, mama bear. Do you want the last of the wine?" She held out the nearly empty bottle.

"Sure." 

Rebecca grinned impishly and slipped under Rhonda's outreached arm and hugged her tightly for a moment, then handed over the bait she'd used to lure her begrudging target. "Thanks for the company and for always looking out for me."

Ronnie laughed as she patted Rebecca on the back. "Nice move there. G'night, girls. Walk 'em home for me, Rufus."

Rufus wagged his tail at his name, and the remaining trio made their way to the stairs and down to their floor. Back in their apartment, Sam turned on a lantern and set the bag with the dirty food containers and utensils on the counter — they could wash them tomorrow — while Rebecca stoked the fire and conscientiously checked the CO detector. They stepped through their usual bedtime routine with few words, but both found the familiar domesticity comforting.

Sam picked through her sleepwear, initially picking up a warm flannel top, but had a second thought and traded it for something without fasteners — a thin silk thermal that she quickly changed into and followed with a pair of standard flannel PJ pants. She hopped into bed, nudged the handful of bedwarming bricks out from under the covers to thunk onto the carpet, and started pulling the covers tight along her outer side.

But, when Rebecca turned off the lantern and joined her, Sam reached out to coax her closer in the darkness. She gently guided Rebecca's head to rest on her chest — usually she was the one who ended up with her head on Rebecca's shoulder, but based on past behavior, Sam was starting to suspect Rebecca found her heartbeat soothing. She was hoping the silk shirt would make for better snuggling than buttons right in her face.

Sam spoke quietly, conscious that Rebecca's ear was right on her chest. "How's my girl?"

Rebecca took a long, deep breath that was more a release of energy than a sad sigh. "Thankful, grateful."

Sam kissed Rebecca's hair and twirled an exploratory finger through it. "Hmm?"

The arm Rebecca had draped across Sam's abdomen tightened briefly with affection. "For you, for Ronnie, for Allie, Rufus... everyone who's helped me. For the time I got to have with Jaime, for him keeping me safe, for at least being there when he died, him not being alone. For not having to carry that stupid gun anymore. And, for you."

"You said me twice. You like me that much?"

"Sure. But I didn't want to end the list on something unpleasant, and you're a good go-to for pleasant things."

"Aww." Sam lowered her hand from Rebecca's head to embrace her. "Ditto, sugar. Ditto."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To borrow a model from software development, I guess we can think of Ao3 as the "stable release" distribution of this story. I'll post chunks of it here as each is built out over time / finalized.
> 
> If you can't stand a cliffhanger, the "daily" builds that are subject to change and posted in smaller, more frequent increments can be found on WattPad. Part 4 is currently in active development there.

Councilwoman Zaman came back a few days later. Rebecca was running some drills with the larger pistol Rhonda had appropriated for her when they arrived, putting fistfuls of low-grade sport ammo through it and getting used to the different balance. Several more rounds in each magazine, less noticeable recoil. She missed the integral laser sight, though.

The original owner had larger hands than she did, so she was particularly grateful the interchangeable rubber grips that wrapped around the back of her pistol also fit this model. Still, with only one "medium" to go around, she'd have to pick and choose which pistol she wanted to fit most comfortably at any given time. Maybe Sam could inherit her compact with the unused small grip?

Speaking of, Rebecca saw Sam sidle up in her peripheral vision with fingers in her ears, several feet away. Rebecca lowered the pistol and moved her finger out of the trigger guard, pulling one earplug free with her left hand while keeping the gun pointed "downrange". "Hey Rosie. What's up?"

Sam lowered her hands away from her ears. "Amira's back, along with Epstein and a few other guys. Ronnie wants to take 'em on a tour of the upgrades."

Which meant Sam would be playing docent for the solar power. Rebecca wasn't entirely sure what she'd add herself, but this was clearly an invitation, whether for company's sake or just being involved if there was something else important discussed. But sure, she’d tag along. 

"Huh." Rebecca unloaded the handgun, leaving the slide locked to cool while she thumbed the remaining magazine-and-a-half of rounds back into the box. "I wonder how they'll shake up our life this time."

Sam shrugged and made an exaggeratedly enthusiastic face accompanied by jazz hands. "Oooh, exciting!!"

"Pfft." Rebecca waved her hand over the pistol to check its temperature, then tucked it away in the small sling bag she had with her. The shell casings would have to wait, she could come back later to see if there were any worth reusing. "I've definitely learned to appreciate boring."

It was Sam's turn to scoff. "Yeah. Tell me about it."

Rebecca followed Sam back around the building. Sure enough, there was a new Humvee (she assumed, she hadn't exactly been memorizing their dings, scratches, and numbers) parked at the open end of the U-shaped courtyard. But even more novel was a big black SUV beyond it, the kind she'd picture "The Feds" showing up with in a movie. It was still dwarfed by the hulking beast they'd captured from Black Tusk that loomed like a squatting gargoyle near the main entrance, but that didn't make it seem any less out of place.

She must have been gawking, because when Amira stepped away from a cluster of people to greet them, she gestured at it — with a level of poise and elegance that made Rebecca feel like an awkward duckling, by the way. "Samantha, Rebecca, good afternoon ladies. You seem to like my new ride? When you get to be my undisclosed age, getting jostled around constantly in a military vehicle becomes much less pleasant, or even survivable."

Rebecca remembered her queasy ride in the Humvee and smiled. "I can imagine... but is it worth the trade-off in safety?"

Amira laughed like Rebecca had unwittingly delivered a good punchline. "Oh, my dear. You don't think our dashing officers would let their reluctant figurehead ride around unprotected, do you? Some sharp-eyed youngling picked it out of the mess on I-95, thought it was odd to see three of them in a row together. Thanks to him, I can ride around in something with both padded seats and bulletproof glass. Some diplomat was probably trying to flee in the opposite direction of population density, for however well it worked out for them."

She waved a hand as if to dismiss the morbid note of her afterthought, and it seemed to work, as some of her infectious amusement crept into the tone of Rebecca's reply.

"Best of both worlds, then."

"Indeed, but enough car talk. It's bad enough I have to be reminded of city council meetings, I don't want to think about haggling with a car dealer."

Rebecca took a moment to contemplate the poor salesperson who had to sit across the table from Amira as she turned and started walking slowly back towards the group, clearly expecting the girls to follow. 

"I hear you two had a lot to do with the new additions." Amira waved her hand regally again, this time towards the dozens of new solar panels ringing the roofs around the courtyard and shading some of the workbenches.

Rebecca felt like she was getting called on in class to explain a report, when she'd only designed the cover graphics. "Oh jeez, all I did was spot them on a map. Sam's the genius who actually makes it all go." She dropped back half a step and smiled apologetically at Sam...

...who glared and mouthed a silent "Oh, thanks!" at her before starting to talk aloud. "We've added a ton of generation capacity, but that's a double-edged sword. I'd feel a lot better if we found an electrician, because I'm often having to puzzle through what should be safe based on science and math, and they'd know what construction standards would have been."

The group they joined was mostly unfamiliar faces, but Rebecca picked out Ronnie and Epstein off to the side and sidled over to the familiar faces. Meanwhile, Sam continued…

"Before, we had more storage than we could fill even on a sunny day. That gave us a super easy safety margin and the wiring could be simple, it was basically just a matter of extending what the early residents built. Now... "

Sam actually sighed. "Now there are tons of possibilities, but it's all gonna be really complicated. I've been trying iterate bite-sized chunks, sometimes using the micro inverters attached to each panel, like for workbenches over there that got 110v for bigger power tools, and sometimes bypassing them for direct DC applications like some new lighting on micro grids and more charging stations for AA's and USB packs…"

Rebecca had absorbed all of this just being around Sam, and her attention returned to Amira's entourage. She really wanted to ask Ronnie who they were, but didn't think it was the right time yet. None of the strangers were female, so that ruled out Captain Tierman, and she'd recognize Fairbanks if she saw him. A couple of enlisted men, plus two guys in unlabeled tactical gear over outdoorsy clothing... not carrying the firearms their gear suggested they usually might. A security measure on "our" part, or a courtesy on theirs?

The tour continued past their cold storage pantry where Sam pointed out the portable AC units they were hoping to connect before the weather warmed up, and then up towards the battery room where she began explaining to Amira and the other guests how she'd tried to organize them by age, type, and fully charged amperage so that series of them could be somewhat treated as aggregate units. The entryway was tight though, and as Rebecca trailed back to the rear of the group, Ronnie nodded towards her before entering the room, also speaking to Epstein.

"Hey, why don't you two talk about the work that needs to be done on your hybrid?"

Rebecca glanced at Epstein — who shrugged amicably — then nodded at Ronnie. "Okay. Cover Sam’s back in there while I’m busy, okay?""You know it, kiddo." 

Rebecca and Epstein moved a few steps down the hallway and leaned on opposite walls, and he spoke first.

"So… just because a guy knows how to fix a bunch of military vehicles means he’s qualified to work on hybrid powertrains now too, huh?"

Rebecca chuckled. "I mean, if it makes you feel any better, it’s the gas side of things that’s acting up. Remember Allie, our asian friend who’s having the baby? She said the last time they used it, the engine was stalling and stuttering. They got it home on the battery, but it was rough going. Ronnie thinks it’s probably old gas, given how little we had on hand."

"That makes sense, if it was sitting for a while. All the ethanol they were putting in fuel for the last few decades adds a ton of moisture that separates out of the gas within a few months. Sometimes it’s so bad your fuel pump is only sucking water." He paused to scratch his chin contemplatively. :Might be spark plugs or the coil, but I bet a hybrid isn’t old enough for that to be a problem. It probably has a beefed up ignition system for all the stop-starts anyway. Short version, Gunny’s probably right as usual, and the gas is a good place to start."

"Thank you for not dumbing it down like some shade-tree mechanic 'girl-talking' me. Do you think you can fix it?"

"Probably. Might be able to just mix in enough fresh gas or an additive from an auto parts store. If it’s really gross, we can just drain the tank, dilute it across several jerry cans, and feed it to a Humvee or generator, something less picky than some fancy high-compression computer controlled eco-mobile."

"That sounds kind of judgmental. Don't tell me you're one of those guys who likes 'rolling coal' on Priuses and all that shit, please?" Rebecca was slightly concerned, he’d seemed pretty likable so far. 

"No, don't worry." He grinned. " Look around at what I drive all the time. Trucks are supposed to get dirty. Not be shiny underneath with stupid mods that make them worse at actually being trucks."

**

"So, ladies and gentlemen, you're all well aware we're living in a world-class clusterfuck." 

Rebecca found Amira's unfettered potty mouth reassuring somehow. Like, someone who swore this much couldn't possibly care about political maneuvering. She smiled and heard Sam chuckle next to her as Amira swept her eyes over the vacant retail space, addressing most of the civilians and garrison as they perched on stacks of lumber, inverted buckets, folding chairs, or simply knelt or sat cross-legged on the floor.

"Gunnery Sergeant, please speak up if I misstate anything in your purview, you have license to step on my toes." She looked at Rhonda with a "I mean it" face, then returned to addressing the room. "Captain Tierman and I have been busy since I was last here, trying to find our asses with a flashlight and see who else out there has their shit together. You already know the federal government is fucked — two presidents in a row dead, one missing with rumors of some treasonous bullshit going on in bed with those pricks who blew through our goddamned town last year before they got thrown out on their asses." She threw her hands up in a dismissive gesture, like she was waving a fly away. "Who knows what the fuck is going on with continuity at this point."

Rebecca noticed the two new guys in unmarked tactical gear stir at Amira's last point. She looked them over again and noticed their stuff was all well-worn. Pretty high end, even if it was hodgepodge — definitely not all the same brand. Her attention went back to Amira as she continued talking.

"When everything went out the fucking window, states and the feds all declared emergencies. Virginia doing it gave the governor access to the national guard, later the combined Joint Task Force, for aid. We all know how that turned out. But here we are months and months later with no word from a functional state government, either — there's no radio traffic from Richmond, and early reconnaissance attempts by Tierman's people into the fringes report it's a lawless ghost town."

"So... in the absence of anyone at the fucking wheel, and in agreement with the handful of sheriffs, small town mayors, or anyone we can find with a semblance of credible regional authority, we're going to start rebuilding from what we do have, from the ground up. Since we’re the locally viable excuse for a government, that emergency order sets precedence for Tierman’s forces, and any allies they can reconnect with, to being operating at our request or on our behalf."

"We’ll continue to work our way up from there when—" Amira raised a finger imperiously. "Because fuck if, we will rebuild, it's just a matter of how far — when things are re-established. In the presence of a fractured JTF command structure who has their hands full just with shitshow that is Washington…"

Rebecca saw the two mystery "operators" shift again. Something about their body language changing, or maybe a glance at each other that she saw in her peripheral vision, she couldn't quite put a finger on it. Meanwhile, she pondered what Lassart had to say about all this... and wished she could be a fly on the wall when Amira ripped him a new one some day.

"... D.C., we’ll probably start operating under the banner of the Commonwealth, at least until someone shows up with a better offer."

Rebecca felt a little tingle of excitement as a quiet, but generally approving murmur rippled through the room. She'd always liked that Virginia identified itself as a "commonwealth", and felt that the word was a good reflection of an optimistic view of their situation. Everyone had to work together for the common good if they were going to successfully claw their way back out of the hole they were all in. But not everyone would go for that.

She waited to make sure Amira really was at an opportune pause, then raised her hand. "Uh, ma'am?" (Shit. Sam was going to give her a hard time over that later.) "What about the bad actors we've already run into? Or people who just see it as the unwelcome return of government rule?"

"They're welcome to stay the fuck out of our way if they don't want our help. And if they try to start a fight, we'll make a show of finishing it to discourage everyone else — something you and your friends personally seem to have started a trend of."

Rebecca noticed movement from those two guys again. Did Amira's allusion to the earlier fights suddenly focus their interest on her? She shifted anxiously, which made Sam glance over with a lifted eyebrow, so she tried to hide her discomfort before anyone else noticed. Thankfully, Leonard asked Amira another question that drew the eyes in the room to him.

"Speaking of help... do you have anything to share about those efforts? I know there's been a lot of work here in the other building, setting it up for storage and barracks... and obviously the extra power's going to be really nice. I'm already tripping over things in the dark less." He gave Sam a little nod. "What about collection and distribution of supplies, that sort of thing?"

Amira smiled. "Everyone, I swear I'm not paying him to set up my next topic for me. I just don't have that kind of budget yet." That got a few chuckles around the room. "All of you can see the progress here, so you probably know more about it than I do. So, I'll spend my aged breath —" (She emphasized the second syllable of "aged", pronouncing it like "age-ed") "... and tell you about what's going on everywhere else."

"You know Tierman has established her headquarters at the county airport, and dug in fiercer than a badger in its den. What you might not have heard about is the fringe benefits of the surrounding area. The rail line to the west, invaluable for heavy movement if we find out there's someone out there worth riding it to. South of the airfield is an old historic farm site, with something like 400 acres of land. They've already raided a nearby golf course for fertilizer and have begun rehabilitating the fields."

Amira scanned the room looking for questions — or perhaps gauging how well she was playing the audience? Fortunately, she started talking again before Rebecca could think too much about collecting soil from a certain hotel. 

"Just south of the farm, there is a small industrial park with the remnants of — and I am not kidding about any of these — a building supply company, two auto repair shops, a microbrewery, fire and flood restoration company, commercial light and semi truck dealer, bulletproof vest manufacturer, and a business eclectically specializing in underwater tactical gear, assault ramps and ladders, and... what are they called, Sergeant? Ballistic shields?"

Ronnie nodded to Amira, whilst Rebecca let out a low impressed whistle. You just can't make that kind of stuff up... and this was as significant a bounty as the solar panels and armory leftovers.

Amira smirked jovially at Rebecca — who felt like she'd been busted for whispering in class — but continued. "The low buildings and trees surrounding the airport give them a commanding view of all of this, which will make securing all of it that much easier. The river's not far, which means a water supply if the city grid collapses. There's even a cluster of very nice houses on some cul-de-sacs right across the main road from the airport. We're hoping that we can attract survivors with comfortable and secure housing, to work on the farm and escorted scavenging teams in exchange for a share of the output. Lieutenant Fairbanks has already identified two drugstore chain distribution centers within a half mile, a rod and gun club they want to scour for ammunition components, and a warehouse or small manufacturing plant for a big-name pistol and shotgun manufacturer... quite the juicy menu to start sampling."

Damn. Rebecca was amazed at how quickly this could all come together. Maybe they'd reached a critical mass tipping point and would enjoy a period of rampant improvement, appropriately just as spring started — assuming nobody came along to fuck it up. Amira seemed confident, but... Rebecca just couldn't help suspecting there was some bunch of assholes out there who would come knocking. Especially as word got out…

She bit her lip and spotted Rhonda noticing her frown and giving her knowing nod. Rebecca was pretty sure she could guess the message behind it — something along the lines of "Trust me kid, I know. But we'll be ready."

She sure hoped so.

**

Amira's meeting went on for another forty minutes or so, but the remainder was mostly things that didn't hold much of Rebecca's interest. Most noteworthy was Amira encouraging the settlement's civilians to elect a handful of representatives as the region's fledgling attempts at bootstrapped self-governance took shape, an idea which Rebecca emotionally nope'd right the hell away from. She even shook her head a fraction of an inch when Ronnie glanced at her, which got a subtle smirk in reply.

There was a brief debate that drew her attention, about whether to resume the use of cash or start issuing ration tickets or something. She tuned out after the room seemed to reach a consensus that nobody had a clue what to do yet.

But Amira's armored SUV... that kept popping up in her train of meandering thoughts. Something about the way she described the convoy they found it in... it sounded like there might have been other drivable ones? Maybe that would be a good option for their search for family... discreet, but protected. They'd give up any offensive firepower, but it wasn't like any of the four of them were well-trained in the mounted MG's the military vehicles sported. The not-really-civilian SUV was probably faster than the Humvees too, especially over any reasonable kind of road, so it might get them out of trouble faster — or even keep it from catching them in the first place as they zoomed by.

At the end of the gathering, Amira made her way around having small side conversations and generally working the room. As she watched, Rebecca was starting to develop a newfound respect for how being a real diplomat, not just some skeezy politician, took true skill. When Amira made her way to where she stood with Sam, Rebecca looked at her with a humorous glint in her eyes.

"Madame Councilwoman, I thought you said that if they tried to make you mayor, you'd quit. Perhaps I'm mistaken?"

Amira's eyes narrowed in a mockery of a perturbed glare, but there was a hint of respect to her tone, like Rebecca had pulled off a competent sparring round. "Perhaps, child. But I never said anything about governor."

Rebecca, schooled by the master after what she thought was going to be a successful jab, laughed. "Fair point. Can I ask you something, mostly unrelated?"

Amira raised an intrigued eyebrow and gestured encouragingly with one hand, but remained silent.

"The SUV you arrived in... I think you said there were three. Is there another one around somewhere? Drivable?"

Amira tilted her head appraisingly. "You'd have to ask our dashing mechanically inclined Marine friend about its exact condition, but yes, I did see a second one at the airfield. You have roused my curiosity in turn, though. Why do you ask?"

"Well... we've been cobbling together plans to look for our families. Sam's parents lived out in the fringes of town, and last I heard, my mom was heading to her brother's cabin out in the Blue Ridges. We're not exactly sure what to hope for, but since it seems we might have the resources... we figured we ought to try. Ronnie's been suggesting it's even more important with some of the unpleasant things she's been hearing about the big cities."

"Oh, I can tell you exactly what to hope for, young lady. We have no choice but to hope most defiantly in the face of what this world has become, or we will fail. Though, what you should prepare yourself for is the tougher question. Meanwhile, how would one of those vehicles help you?"

"Well... I have my own car... it's having some trouble that Epstein thinks he can fix, but it's just a regular car, no protection to it other than some airbags and crumple zones. With the tactical vehicles..." Rebecca held a hand up towards the outside, and shrugged. "Is something big and tough an asset, or a liability out there? We're trying to figure out the balance between looking like a hard target, and not being noticed in the first place. Not to mention squeezing through tight spots in the mess out there, or up in the woods."

"I see. And something like a diplomat transport would be better protected, but also cast a smaller shadow."

"Right. And, as you mention, be more comfortable. But... that last part’s secondary, compared to family."

Amira nodded approvingly. "Indeed." She remained silent for a few moments, enough that Rebecca started to grow a little anxious, wondering if she was supposed to say something — but apparently Amira made up her mind about... something? "Both of you come see me in the camper you stuck an old lady in last time I was here, in, say, twenty minutes. Bring a map, and your Gunnery Sergeant friend.

**

Rebecca didn’t have a time-telling device handy, but hoped she was punctual as Ronnie knocked on the RV-turned-VIP-quarters in the furthest reaches of the courtyard, near the steel container wall. She cradled a rolled-up satellite image across her arm like a rifle, and Sam held two folded AAA maps in the hand opposite her lantern.  
Amira’s voice beckoned them inside, where Rebecca blinked in surprise to see the two mysterious unknown guys squeezed inside it with the rest of them. One of them nodded in silent greeting, which she returned with a cordial half-smile as she and Sam slipped behind Rhonda to sit on the lowered bed towards the "cab" area. Rebecca was really hoping Ronnie could take the lead with… whatever the presence of the strangers would bring.

That hope only grew when she decided the two men probably weren’t happy to see them. The guy who hadn’t nodded to her glanced away quickly, but she caught… some kind of dissatisfaction on his face before he did. Before she could ponder it further though, Amira gestured for the maps, which the younger women passed to Rhonda to relay to the fold-out dining table. The same table, in fact, that Rebecca had unrolled them on a few weeks ago with Ronnie.

Adept diplomat that she was proving to be, Amira likely picked up on Rebecca’s reluctance, and addressed Ronnie in her dry, almost gravelly voice. "So, Gunnery Sergeant. Show me where the nearer of your friends’ objectives is?"

A quick glance from Ronnie told Rebecca she’d picked up on her hesitation, and then Mama Bear stepped forward to screen her cubs from the strangers. "Here." Ronnie drew a best-time route with her finger from the city center to Sam’s old neighborhood. "Recon indicates it’s been 'all quiet on the Western Front', but I’m still reluctant to send them solo."

"I see. Gentlemen, I do believe that’s in the general direction of your secondary objective, yes?"

The grumpier "gentleman" pressed his lips tight, and the slightly more congenial one spoke. "All due respect, I’m not entirely comfortable discussing this in front of them."

Amira was facing partially away from her, but Rebecca could see the edge of her eye as it narrowed dangerously. "All due respect, Mister Garyn, if that really is your name, but fuck your security clearance bullshit. These three women are why you have three-quarters of your intelligence on your highest profile opposition in your area of operation. They are almost entirely why, as you pointed out, Black Tusk apparently issued orders to avoid this whole town as 'not worth the trouble', allowing you easy passage and a convenient base of operations. This is also their home. If you’re going to be gallivanting about in their neck of the woods poking at nuclear reactors, I think they should know."

Guy-who-wasn’t Garyn clenched his jaw and pinched the bridge of his nose. Clearly Amira had just pulled their cat out of the bag. 

(Rebecca found herself boggled at the idea Amira was only a city council member, not, like… chairwoman of some high powered federal committee who liked to rake her opposition over the coals for sport.)  
Garyn sighed. "Yes, that is along one route we could take to North Anna."

Sam’s head tilted in Rebecca’s peripheral vision. "So that’s why some small parts of town have power, no shit… do we need to be worried?"

"Not about a containment breach, at least." Garyn didn’t look happy about it, but seemed to accept Amira had him by the balls. "Thermal and radiological readings indicate the plant either failed safe, or someone managed to gently reduce output as the power grids collapsed. Our objective is to recon the plant, identify whose control it is under, if any, and take measures to secure it so experts can be brought in."

Sam glanced at Rebecca, who had a "catch-me-up-please" face on. Quietly, while Ronnie hunched over the map and studied roads further out than her old neighborhood, she leaned close. "That plant supplied a good chunk of the power for northern Virginia. Can’t say it wouldn’t be nice to have the lights back on, if we managed to not burn the city down."

"Indeed, young lady." Amira inclined her head towards Sam briefly, then turned back to the men at the table. "One could argue that would be excellent, perhaps even enabling, progress."

Rhonda leaned back so she wasn’t blocking the girls from seeing the table, but addressed Garyn. "Secondary objective. What’s your primary?"

Garyn looked at Amira. "We’re really not in a position to discuss that yet."

Amira made a derisive puffing sound. "And yet you’re seeking resources to get you to North Anna, and assist with reconnaissance to the east."

Rebecca noticed Ronnie’s posture shift. Amira had just told her something, and she hadn’t missed it. Garyn and his cohort didn’t see it, too busy almost-glaring at Amira. Ronnie was clearly happy to let them remain ignorant, because she backed off — something Rebecca rarely saw when matters involved safety of the locals. "Fine. We get tasked with regional recon, provide assets to help you get to North Anna, and in addition to whatever benefits your efforts bring us, a few civilians get tacked onto that convoy."

Garyn looked at his silent friend, who shrugged and finally spoke. "What else are we gonna do?"

"Fantastic, gentlemen. I’m glad we could all agree. Thank you for your time." Amira didn’t quite dismiss them, but… Rebecca kept her face carefully neutral, fighting her admiration while Amira turned and looked over her shoulder. "Ladies, I would love to catch up with the three of you before retiring. Just a little conversation before an old lady’s bedtime."

Okay, now she’d dismissed them. Rebecca stood and wished the men a good night as they left. After the door shut, she slipped hesitantly into the booth next to Amira since Ronnie and Sam had taken the opposite seats — she still wasn’t sure if Amira was about to offer them cookies or rip someone’s ego to shreds.

"Uhm… can I just say, that was awesome? And you’re… mildly terrifying. I never want to be in your way, like, ever." When Amira chuckled warmly at this, Rebecca was encouraged. "Can I hug you?"

Sam and Ronnie laughed as Amira lifted her near arm and Rebecca leaned in to squeeze her gratefully. "Thank you, really."

"Of course, my dear. You’ve probably picked up that I enjoy taking buffoons down a notch by now." Another round of laughs. "Now, Gunny, if I may call you that among friends. What did I clue you in on?"

Before Ronnie could answer, Rebecca interrupted. "What? I thought you knew, and were dropping her a hint."

If it was possible to cackle quietly, Amira did it. "Dear, I did drop her a hint. One I was not equipped to solve myself. Now stop interrupting your elders."

Rebecca sat back but took the admonishment in good spirits, especially since Sam made eye contact with a suppressed giggle. Even Ronnie had a gentle chuckle at her expense before answering.

"Dahlgren. They’re after Dahlgren."

Rebecca knew there was a military base there, right on the Potomac, but there were dozens in the area and she never really paid much attention to the smaller ones. Sure, she knew the big names, like Quantico had FBI and Marine Corps stuff, or Norfolk was a huge Navy hub. Fortunately, Ronnie explained further.

"There’s a small base there. I doubt they’re after the airfield, the airstrips are bigger than the county airport, but why not go for a real air station?" She shifted the map and looked at it again. "My money is they’re after the Naval Surface Warfare Cen… ter." Ronnie slowed mid-word as something obviously clicked in her head. "Hah. No shit."

Everyone looked at her with some sort of encouraging or expectant expression, and Amira gave it all words. "Do enlighten us, Gunny."

"Funny you should point out that part of my rank, ma’am. The NSWC is… was used for all kinds of research and testing, but… it has a fricking shore battery. A whole row of different naval guns aimed downrange on like 20 miles of straight river, but look, the Potomac takes a tight Z-turn right at Dahlgren." Her eyes were lighting up with excitement, and Rebecca had only seen that grin come out when someone was in for a real good ass kicking. "Black Tusk push up river to D.C. last year, right? Somebody wants to make sure they can’t pull that shit again, lay into them as they slow for the turns." It seemed her enthusiasm was overwhelming the profanity filter she’d tried to use in front of Amira.  
Rebecca shook her head in disbelief. "Forts controlling the mouths of rivers again. God, we really have rolled back civilization."

Rhonda acknowledged her quip with a grin and a nod, and continued. "Last I heard there was even a 16-inch naval gun, like the main batteries on the old battlewagons like Missouri and Iowa, if you want to talk about winding back time. Maybe not as practical as something smaller, faster, with smart munitions, but if there’s ordnance sitting around, god damn would it be fun to pull the string on that."  
Sam chuckled next to her. "Oh look, we sunk their battleship."

**

Ronnie might still have been dreaming of a lifetime record in "biggest gun fired", but Sam’s enthusiasm soon resynced with Rebecca’s about the travel opportunities. All of the women agreed that their little deduction shouldn’t leave the RV, since these government agent types Tierman apparently vouched for were so very concerned about operational security. (Plus, no point in ruffling their feathers.) Sam and Rebecca nearly forgot about it anyway — they were far more preoccupied with digging out their field packs and being ready to go as soon as word came.

Amira and Ronnie pulled some strings, and Tierman agreed to shuttle the second diplomatic SUV over to the armory, where they could pick it up on the way out of town. Epstein cautioned them it was in rougher shape than Amira’s, but neither of the girls really gave a damn. Chrissie promised that she and Patrick would get over leaving their familiar Humvee behind as soon as their "butts hit the fancy leather seats."

The girls would have probably driven each other nuts with their pent-up enthusiasm if they weren’t able to make a little fun of themselves over it, especially when they had to partially unpack the gear stacked on the dining table as they realized they needed items from it. The days felt excruciatingly slow while they waited for more news, chipping in on their share of work around the settlement, but spending the rest of the time nearly vibrating with excitement.

There was a strong undercurrent of trepidation too, worrying how they could be disappointed, but it went unspoken. They’d already given enough voice to their doubts, and discussing those yet again just felt like giving granting them power. The four days it took for the expedition to the New Anna power station to be planned felt like twice that, but news finally came that everything was in order.

Leonard and Allison insisted on hosting both couples for dinner before they left, along with Ronnie, even though she was staying behind. (Amira had strenuously supported the idea of giving her military command of the Garden Fort’s garrison.) They decided to gather two nights before departure, leaving the last evening for final preparation and rest.

Leonard surprised them with some freshly caught fish from the river — some kind of bass, he suspected — and did a pretty good job pan frying them. Afterwards, Rebecca and Ronnie were leaning on the balcony rail outside the dining room while the others played with Rufus lackadaisically inside.  
"You know I wish I was going with you, kiddo. But I have faith in you, and your friends are solid people."

Rebecca scooted her elbows along the rail and moved closer to Ronnie, resting her head on her mentor and friend’s shoulder. "I know. But you have to keep this place safe, we still don’t know what the fuck’s bumping around out there in the dark. Think of it as making sure i have a home to come back to, y’know?"

Ronnie chuckled. "Smart cookie. Knew I know what my responsibilities are and just focused your argument on the leftover guilt."

"Heh. Don’t ever feel like you haven’t done enough for me, Ronnie, please. I don’t know how I would be here right now, happy with Sam, with a good home, healing into a bearable flavor of missing Jaime, and in a position to go out and look for my mom if it wasn’t for you.""Alright, but only if you come back safe. Remember everything I’ve taught you, and keep your head on straight out there."

Rebecca lifted her head with a mildly impudent grin. "Am I supposed to keep my head on straight, or on a swivel? Why can’t whoever comes up with all those military maxims be consistent?"

"I’m not going to get into how many different knuckleheads have come up with a catchy phrase over the years. I do wonder if my biggest sacrifice these days is putting up with how much more lip you give me now that you’re doing better?"

Rebecca made a scoffing noise. "Yeah, yeah. No good deed. But you know full well sarcasm means love around here." She was grateful for the opportunity to express the volume of her appreciation through humor, which Ronnie would tolerate, and also wouldn’t seem like some kind of jinx before they parted ways for a mission. But…

"Ronnie, I never had a sister. But I think you’d make an awesome one."

Rhonda actually put an arm around Rebecca’s shoulder and gave her a little squeeze. "I mean, technically I did already, just not for you. That’s why all your old Princess Bride references pain me so much, remember? And why I can never forget the themes to some children’s shows. Talk about enhanced interrogation techniques, I think they actually used Spongebob at Gitmo."

"Oh jeez." Rebecca fell contentedly silent for a while, looking out at the stars between the scattered clouds. She knew well enough what Ronnie had not said.

Their quiet contentment was ended when Rhonda looked off to one side, lifted her arm off of Rebecca’s shoulder, and called her attention to something. "Hey, kid. Look down there."

Rebecca followed Ronnie’s gaze down to the courtyard — she always did feel better that Allie was going to raise a kid in an apartment on the safer side of the building. Two soldiers were striding crisply to a point midway along the courtyard, but closer to the barracks building, and when they reached it, turned in a simultaneous about-face towards it. A reflection glinted as one of them lifted a bugle to his lips, and a second later, she heard the first haunting note he blew. Ronnie’s back straighten in her peripheral vision.

Before she recognized the tune, and while the first long note was still resonating, Ronnie quietly asked her, "Do you know the words to this?"

Rebecca tilted her head, and finally recognized the long warbling note as the opening to the mournful tune she associated with military funerals. She tried to whisper back as quietly as she could and still be heard. "No… what happened?"

"Hang on." Ronnie still spoke quietly, hurrying through a few words to catch up, then slowing her pace to match the clarion notes. "Day is done, gone the sun… from the lake… from the hills… from the sky. All is well… safely… rest. God… is nigh."

Rebecca had felt a rush of goosebumps right after Ronnie started the last sentence, and waited for the last echoes to fade. As it is, she felt like Ronnie might have been breaking some kind of protocol just to tell her the words in time with the notes. When everything was silent again, and the two soldiers headed indoors in the same precisely locked step, she finally spoke. "Wow. That’s actually… beautiful, and totally changes how I hear it. Why were they playing it? Is everyone okay?"

Ronnie took a deep breath like she was re-centering herself. "Yeah. That’s actually the point." Windows across from them and most of the exterior LED spotlights in the courtyard started to go dark. "With the extra power coming in, we can run those lights longer, but still have to be mindful. Giving Sammie a predictable cutoff for all of them makes her life easier, so I gave orders to revive the lights-out call. Figured a little routine couldn’t hurt. I also think that’s been played for far more than enough funerals around the world over the last year, so we’re tipping the fucking balance back."

There was an odd ripple of determination dripping from Ronnie’s later words, combining with the memory of the notes still lingering in Rebecca’s mind to form an odd mixture of haunting emotion for her. "Wow, again. Yeah, I’d sure like someone to tell me all is well every night. I appreciate that they played it at a reasonable volume though."

Ronnie chuckled. "Yeah, well. I figured we didn’t want to piss off the neighbors. I’m glad that kid can actually play, so we’re not standing out there holding a boombox over our heads."

"Heh. Speaking of neighbors, you might wanna spread the… lyrics, for lack of a better word, around."

"Have a little faith, kid. What do you think Allie’s talking about tomorrow at her little morning service?"

Rebecca shook her head. "You missed being one step ahead of me, didn’t you?" When Rhonda only grinned at her sideways, Rebecca voiced a nagging concern. "You don’t think playing it right before we head out is, like, tempting fate? Bad foreshadowing?"

"Not if we don’t let it be. Like I said, we’re reclaiming it. Allie’s gonna tell folks tomorrow what it means, that’ll get around, it’ll play one more time before you leave on Monday."

"I won’t deny it’ll be nice to repeat those words to myself tomorrow night. Though not gonna lie, I may forget parts of it and replace them with humming."

**

At the closing of Allison’s service, she said a short benediction over the imminent expedition. It was… open-mindedly worded, wishing them safety, success, and a happy return. Not too heavy on the manus dei stuff… but Rebecca still found herself mumbling the closing "Amen" along with everyone else. It couldn’t hurt, right?

Even if spirituality didn’t bring her much direct comfort, Rebecca still deeply appreciated the human side of the faith equation. Just knowing a number of people were strongly hoping for their success brought her a measure of calm, comforting in the face of the multiple flavors of anxiety fluttering around within her. She held onto Allie for a very long hug when it was her turn, even though she’d probably get another one tomorrow before they left. It still felt right, like she could soak up more of the optimism through direct contact. Both Allie and Sam smiled at her understandingly when she relaxed her arms and stepped away.

"I will see you again tomorrow, Rebecca." Allison clasped one of her hands as they separated, to give it a reassuring pat. "And, I will see you again after that. My faith isn’t just in the folks upstairs, but in you and your friends, too."

Rebecca felt a small knot in her throat at that she carefully breathed away, blinking her eyes clear. "Thank you."

Sam got a longer-than-average hug too, and Allison smiled over the top of her head at Rebecca while she patted Sam’s back. "You two take good care of each other. That’s both an observation and an instruction."

"Yes ma’am. Thanks for what you said, too." Sam moved to Rebecca’s side after the embrace.

"Of course, dears." Allison moved on through the small group of attendees, leaving the two of them to sidle over to the kitchen counter, collect a mug, and start pouring what Rebecca first thought was a cinnamony tea.

She stopped when the mug was a third full with a quizzical expression and held it up to her nose, then took a cautious sip of the dark amber liquid. "Oh my god. Leonard…"

He turned to face them in the kitchen, from where he was doing… something hospitality-related at the opposite counter — Rebecca was too busy beaming at his grinning face to notice what. "You like the little surprise?"

Rebecca handed the cup to Sam, let her get a sip in, and then topped it off from the thermal carafe. "Cider. Real cider. How the hell…"

"Well, I can’t take that much credit. It’s not real cider, but it is pretty good for the powdered stuff, huh? I thought it might be fun before you go."

"You and Allie are saints. I don’t care what anybody else says."

Sam hummed an agreeing sound from behind the mug as she nursed it.

"The best part?" His grin renewed as he stepped closer to them and opened a drawer. "Some for the road." He slid two packets across the counter like it was a clandestine exchange, and Rebecca quickly pocketed them in her hoodie.

"Genuine saints, I say." Then, to Sam, in a hushed tone… "Stop hogging that or I’m keeping both of these for myself!"

**

They spent the rest of the day repacking their bags and gear, even their sleeping bags and roll-up mats. Spare clothes for the two of them fit into a small duffel bag along with a sampling of their toiletries, but that was dwarfed by the array of survival gear Ronnie was pushing them to take. A large medkit, their "family size" hanging water filter, purification tabs, lanterns, two sets of night vision goggles, wearable strobe beacons the size of Rebecca’s fist that could flash in visible light or IR… Chrissie checked everything off a list as they loaded the back of the SUV Amira insisted on loaning them. Just that much alone would have filled Rebecca’s old car to the brim, but a full half of the rear cargo remained.

A good thing, too, with the mid-sized arsenal that got stuffed into it. Felicia, Patrick’s and Sam’s M4 carbines, Christine’s shotgun, three big green waterproof ammunition cans, and a consolidated parts kit all went in the back. Hell, Patrick even loaded a short chainsaw, white with an orange plastic scabbard over the blade, along the rear edge of the trunk space. Chrissie cracked a joke about "them zombie hillbillies", but he swore up down and sideways that it was for downed trees or poles. Spots were reserved for the Tavor behind the center armrest and Sam’s Vector SMG in the front passenger footwell, where it would fit tidily with its stock folded — but they’d wait until morning for those. It took Sam reminding Rebecca about Chrissie’s second shotgun to get her to stop worrying about what the other couple could arm themselves with if there was trouble overnight.

Apparently, Landry and Epstein were transporting extra fuel and a vehicular toolkit to the armory rendezvous in a Humvee, and everything would get redistributed between the two "civilian-ish" SUVs there. Rebecca sure hoped the gas cans were sealed well so she didn’t get queasy again, and wondered if any of the tools were ironically from the armory in the first place. 

Rebecca had even adjusted the driver’s seat and mirrors and taken the SUV for a test drive around the compound. At least, she did after the initial surprise of the ripped out ignition, replaced with a military style stop/run/start switch duct taped to the dash. Epstein’s handiwork, no doubt — Sam would have strung the wires more meticulously.

After all that… there wasn’t much to do but wait. Rebecca and Sam double checked their packing lists, their personal gear… everything was still ready, just like it was a few hours before. Rufus enjoyed some extra playtime with them outside, which also helped assuage a little guilt about leaving him alone for a few days. They had dinner with Ronnie, which doubled as a map review session sprinkled with reminders to keep each other safe, then briefly stopped by Jaime’s memorial. Rebecca wasn’t sure whether it was for some abstract feeling of comfort thinking about one more important person who would want them to succeed — his blessing, as it were — or maybe even just to let him know where they were going, impractical as it may be. It just felt like the right thing to do before they left for a while, one last to-do item before they retired for the night and tried to quiet their anticipation enough to rest.

**

Rhonda settled into a chair after returning to her apartment, dragging the footrest closer with her toe. It was one of those Ikea specials with a wooden frame shaped like two copies of the number 5 without the top crossbars and cushioned fabric between. Not a proper recliner, but pretty comfy. Better than a folding camp chair, and almost as portable. A USMC flag hung on the wall, in her thoughts even though it was behind her, because Rebecca and Sam had brought it back for her from that shop they hit at the mall — along with the Stars and Stripes Ronnie knew was fluttering in a spotlight out front.

A Sharpie marker danced back and forth across Ronnie’s fingers as she twirled it, a pensive habit she picked up over the many idle hours of her career. Patience, and sleeping any time and anywhere were never directly in the training manuals back at Basic, but they were definitely core skills.She still remembered many of the times she saw a young up-and-comer go out leading a patrol for the first time. They started to blend together after the first dozen or so, but some stood out. Most of those were boring and uneventful, which she considered synonymous with "successful". Some went kinetic and still turned out okay. Most of the kids came back, sometimes a little worse for wear.

A few didn’t.

No matter how much she tried to shelve those memories over the years, they’d be the ones that she could never entirely get rid of. Negative confirmation bias, Rebecca called it. She told Ronnie it was good to label containing those thoughts as "shelving", not "burying", that using the different words changed how Ronnie’s mind would process the act. A few years of undergrad and some unfairly traumatic experiences, and she was already better at that than any VA shrink had ever been — not that traumatic experiences were ever fair. Ronnie still wondered if Rebecca had clued into the parallels for "burying". 

Fuck that, no putting that verb in the same sentence as any of her surviving friends’ names, especially not those two kids.

Her list of rationalizations why they were going to be just fine was longer than a triplicate nonstandard equipment request form, but the doubts still lingered. She always hated not knowing what she didn’t know about. Not being blind to your own skill gaps, avoiding that was ingrained quite early — but knowing there may or may not be threats out there you hadn’t spotted yet. Schroedinger’s badguys, to borrow another phrase from the younglings.

She sighed, glaring out the window for another few minutes. She’d already spotted a grey hair last month, this was just going to give her more.

Eventually she reached for the end table next to her, picking up a pile of handwritten notes to busy herself with the latest updates from the day’s data burst. She needed to just stay in her lane, heed her own advice to Rebecca about trusting in people beyond just their good intentions.

At least she’d been able to see to Rebecca’s coaching personally, before finding herself stuck here juggling discussions with Amira, those two government agents blowing through town, Fairbanks, and a patchwork garrison whose morale could be wildly tipped just as much by a stray bullet or a batch of cookies. What a joke of fate, to basically be in command but still have her stripes, not an officer’s bars. 

Well. Things that weren’t officially her responsibility, being her problem… at least her career had gotten her thoroughly used to that.

**

Sam rolled over to face Rebecca the third or fourth time she heard her toss and turn. "Yeah Remy, me neither."

Rebecca chuckled in the darkness. "I swear I was tired twenty minutes ago.""And then our brains stopped having to tell our bodies how to move around upright, and had time to keep us awake instead."

"Mmm." There was another rustle of bedding. "Do you think we’re okay?"

It took Sam only a brief moment to decipher that Rebecca didn’t mean their relationship, but instead was opening up a two-sided version of "are you okay". "I mean, given some latitude for the situation, yeah. The next few days could be terrible, or they could actually be too good."

"Yeah. I’ve been worrying about both extremes, really. We’ve prepared against the bad stuff, but… what happens if we find someone and they don’t want to come back, or can’t, right? Or maybe they’re even safer there."

"That’s crossed my mind a couple times. But hey, you know how it is. Whatever possible outcomes we imagine, it’s gonna be something else."

Rebecca blew a little raspberry sound to show what she thought of that before Sam continued.

"Heh. Yeah, how do you think I feel, coming from the hard sciences? That’s kinda something else I’ve been mulling too. You know… we’re off at college, getting our degrees, keeping our grades up… lots of living for other people’s expectations. Then, poof. That’s still going on a little bit these days, like everyone expects us to pull our own weight, but…"

"It’s different, I get it."

"Yeah. And maybe we’re about to dig that back up again."

Rebecca wasn’t sure how heavy the academic expectations were in Sam’s family, especially with her going into electrical engineering, and that brother hopefully still out towards Seattle being a software dev of some kind. Her own mom had never been overpowering about it, but it was always just assumed Rebecca would be going to college. There wasn’t any real pressure towards one degree or another, in fact quite the opposite. Mom had urged her to apply to places with diverse offerings, lots of choices once she got there… actually sounding very similar to Sam’s comment about things never being what you imagine ahead of time.

Well. Amen to that, those days.

Rebecca shifted her arm, finding Sam’s shoulder first so she didn’t poke her in the eye, then felt her way up towards Sam’s hair and cheek. "Whatever happens, I’m glad we’ve got each other."

Sam nuzzled Rebecca’s hand. "I like the way you said that. Sounds like you’re finally getting that things aren’t imbalanced in your favor."  
"Oh, I know, Rosie. You still steal all the covers."

**

Once again, Sam’s phone trilled them awake a little earlier than they’d have liked. They allowed themselves one snooze interval, and then groaned their way out of bed.

Everything had been laid out the night before, so it was a linear process dragging themselves to their road clothes, a little morning hygiene, then the one hot water bottle allocated to preparing an old-world instant breakfast… but hey, freeze-dried and rehydrated or not, eggs, sausage, potatoes and bell peppers were long-missed friends that helped get their day off on the right foot.

A quick wash of the dishes they used, leaving them to dry on a rack… Rebecca had the passing thought that someone else might have to put them away, or pick up the pajamas they left at the foot of the bed, if she and Sam didn’t come back. She swallowed the rest of her tea in an attempt to wash those thoughts away and set the mug down on the counter with a little more determination than might have been needed.

That drew a sharp glance from Sam, but Rebecca dismissed it with a small head shake on the way to their gear on the dining table. "Just… squaring things away mentally. Save the penny."

Sam returned her smile at the joke. She probably knew digging wouldn’t help any, that they should just forge ahead. Instead, she picked up her helmet, handed Rebecca’s to her, then picked up her share of their remaining gear and bags. "Let’s do this thing, Sparky."

She thought she saw a hint of color on Rebecca’s cheeks at the use of the old nickname, and gave her a playful wink on the way to the door.

Christine and Patrick were downstairs, chatting with Leonard and Allison where they waited to see everyone off. After sleep good morning wishes were exchanged, Pat offered to drive to the armory, since Rebecca would be doing most of the rest. Who said chivalry was dead?

Speaking of which, Rebecca glanced around for their problematically noble defender and spotted him conferring with Rhonda and Landry. After a minute, both men snapped to attention and saluted Ronnie, who returned it and made her way farther up the line of Humvees. Rebecca nodded at to the men in greeting when they looked over, and returned to stacking the last of their provisions in the trunk.

Ronnie looped back several minutes later, waving to Patrick and Christine where they already sat in the front seats, approaching Rebecca and Sam where they were waiting for pre-departure hugs. Ronnie begrudged them that much, not hiding her survey of their gear as she stepped back.

"Well, be safe kids. Be back before curfew or you’re grounded."

Sam grinned, and Rebecca just hugged Ronnie again before replying, "Okay, mama bear."

"God help you if that ever becomes my official call sign. You know I’ll consider it your fault. Now c’mon, load up before everyone else is waiting on you."  
Ah. Right. Talking about feelings time is over. Sam climbed into the SUV and scrambled across to the far seat, reaching to take the Tavor from Rebecca as she climbed in. Ronnie waited until she was buckling up to close the door, knocking on the thick polycarbonate window before stepping back to walk up the line of vehicles once more. Three Humvees leading the one black SUV… it occurred to Rebecca that might make them a bit more of a target until they split off from the formation, but it was a bit late to "second" guess things for what was far more than just the second time.

She watched Rhonda confer briefly with Garyn outside the second Humvee. Rebecca was definitely judging him for not riding in the lead vehicle if he was supposed to be so badass, even if it was a little hypocritical since she and Ronnie rode in a #2 vehicle as well. Once he climbed in, Ronnie waved the first vehicle forward, then to the black SUV again as Patrick followed the convoy past her. A minute later they were pulling up the ramp and out into the wilds yet again.

**

The ride was a hell of a lot better than the Humvees, the was for sure. It was almost cushy, but Sam could feel the extra weight of the armor could feel the extra weight in the turns. Fortunately it didn’t wallow enough that she needed to worry about it bothering Rebecca’s stomach… well, inner ear, technically. She was a little concerned about the route back to the armory passing the hospital again, but at least Rebecca was riding in the far seat this time. Still, Sam kept a careful eye on her as they cleared the local neighborhoods and approached the main drag that went past it.

Rebecca noticed when she glanced over and silently mouthed, "I’m okay." She took Sam’s hand and looked out the other window quite studiously until they were well past the hospital, seemingly aware of the unpleasant sight but not exposing herself to it further. Not that the ghostly parking lots on the other side were a whole lot better, but there were some nice wooded hills behind them to watch. Sam supposed that was the best she could have hoped for.

The armory had changed a bit since their last visit — the rear entrance had been barricaded with more of those steel shipping containers… and one was suspended over the rear entrance like a teetering 8 foot thick portcullis. Sam was glad to see that it wasn’t just dangling from the mobile crane’s solitary cable, but was in fact braced on some railroad ties from below. Quickly thinking over the angles, she realized all someone had to do is raise the hanging container and those would drop away, allowing it to be lowered right after. Clever.

Small shaded sandbag redoubts had been added to the rooftop Rebecca had posted up on, and Sam saw at least three sentries up there as they slowed to a halt between the two buildings. The third Humvee pulled out of the line and drove past the lead vehicles, turning into the former EV parking spaces next to the waiting twin black SUV.

While Landry and Epstein were moving gear and supplies from the back of the Humvee to the SUV, several of the other convoy members seemed to take advantage of the stop to stretch their legs. Sam leaned towards the center of the vehicle they were in. "Hey, there’s decent bathrooms in the admin lobby, assuming the folks camped out here haven’t wrecked them by now."

Chrissie took her feet down from where she’d propped them up on the dashboard. "Hey, never pass up a clean bathroom on a road trip, right?"

When Sam came back out from the administration building, she saw the errant Humvee had already rejoined the column, and the second SUV was pulled up behind theirs. Rebecca was talking to Epstein, Landry, and Garyn around the convoy’s midpoint, and gestured her over.

"Hey babe. We’re just going over the route and where we turn off."

Garyn didn’t seem to give much of a damn, but Landry spoke up. "Hey sister. So about fifteen, sixteen miles along the convoy’s route, then we turn off into a little neighborhood to the south, right?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah." Suddenly it was all real. They were going back to the house she spent her teens in, where her parents might be where all those memories were. Bloody hell. Her pulse started to quicken, and suddenly she felt… mildly disassociated, she supposed. Almost that vague feeling of quasi reality that came while she was dreaming.

Rebecca glance at her with a frown — maybe concerned when she didn’t say anything more — then nodded to Garyn. "Good luck on your mission. I hope it goes well, for everyone’s sake." Then, Rebecca gently took her hand and steered her back towards the end of the convoy. 

Landry and Epstein followed, possibly not aware of her sudden discomfort. At their rides, Patrick and Christine had already piled in the back, and Epstein paused alongside the driver door as Rebecca let go of Sam’s hand so they could go to their respective seats. 

They’d decided earlier that Rebecca would do most of the driving since she knew the route to her uncle’s cabin best, and Sam would navigate since she’d always been good at reading maps — and apparently correlating them with aerial photography. Maybe because of all her practice with circuit diagrams. Fortunately, none of that would be required on this leg of the trip, because she’d probably end up leading them to Kansas or something, the state she felt herself starting to slip into.

Christine actually noticed Sam’s distress before Rebecca got in when their eyes met in the rear view mirror. Sam heard her seatbelt unbuckle, and then the curly mass of Chrissie’s golden hair was right beside her, and the weight of her hand on Sam’s shoulder was comforting even through the layers of armor. "Hey, Sammie. Whatever happens, we’re all here. You don’t have to go in if you don’t want to, okay? We’ll take care of you no matter what."

**

Rebecca briefly confirmed the street name Sam gave her for their turnoff with Epstein, and took a moment to give him a hard time about the improvised ignition switch.

He held up a hand defensively. "Hey now. Whoever was driving these before took the keys. That’s better than having to twist the wires together yourself! Anyway, if you want us to pull up alongside you for something, flash your hazards, ok?"

Rebecca nodded and rapped her knuckles against his, then turned to climb into the car. She saw Chrissie next to Sam as she did and gave her a quick smile of gratitude, then patted Sam on the leg, waiting the moment it took for her to make eye contact.

"Rosie… I have no idea what comes next, but we’re in it together, okay?"

Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Yeah. Thank you, all you guys."

Rebecca was still a little concerned, since she would usually expect Sam to make some quip related to Patrick being the only "guy" in the car, but figured all they could do now is be supportive and help her through whatever was about to happen. She squeezed Sam’s leg, and reached for the starter switch.

The SUV started with its usual quiet rumble, she tweaked the mirrors briefly, and then dropped into gear. The convoy started rolling within the next minute, heading out the front gate of the armory — not hardened yet, Rebecca noticed, but protected by a rolling chain link gate and some K-rail and sandbag emplacements. A couple of empty Hesco earthworks baskets sat nearby, likely destined to be a proper checkpoint.

The string of vehicles drove the wrong way up the offramp to the causeway, threaded through a gap in the abandoned cars, and across the median to the far side. They had a few miles of weaving along that road to go, so she half-focused on following the vehicles in front of her, but glanced at Sam periodically out of the corner of her eye.

"Y’okay, babe?"  
Sam laughed nervously. "Ask me again in a half hour."

"Fair enough. Do you need to talk?"

"I dunno. I guess? I’m just nervous, you know. About to find out one way or the other… after over a year."

"Yeah. I feel you. Or, I will soon, anyway, when it’s my turn."

Sam let out a single "Hah" and put her hand on Rebecca’s thigh, settling into a pensive silence.

**

Sam lucked out on her course schedule for "B Term", her academic period from October through December. Her only Tuesday class was an early morning lab, and in early November, the professor for both of her Wednesday classes amply hinted that the Thanksgiving week coursework could be completed online and turned in any time before the first Monday in December. Plus, speaking of Mondays, her carefully scheduled 2 PM first class meant she could roll the dice on flight delays and head back that morning, even with the 40 mile (counter-commute) drive back from Boston.

Once that was clear, she gladly burned the extra $150 in change fees to move her flight up a day. A head start on the holiday rush and an extra day and a half at home? Well worth it.

The school’s weird way of dividing the academic calendar into five chunks, including the summer, meant things moved at an otherwise breakneck pace. Usually she spent those extra hours on Mondays as a third weekend day just so she could finish her homework AND have time to breathe.

Add to that all the work the team was doing to prep the robot for a match in December, and she really needed the break. They’d already tested the new batteries and their sponsor said the upgraded weapon bar wouldn’t be ready for another week, so she was damned well going to take advantage of the opportunity.

Thanksgiving had been delicious and coma-inducing, followed by a little Black Friday shopping right where you’re supposed to do it — on the couch. Her dad had to take a trip up to D.C. for work, leaving Friday night and getting home sometime Sunday, so she caught a movie with Mom on Saturday, even got a little ice skating in at the mall on the way out. Fell on her bum real good a few times, but feeling like a little kid again just removed her mind another pleasant step farther away from another day in an advanced physics class.

They’d been watching a cheesy Christmas movie on TV when the news broke in, about a sudden outbreak of a scary flu or something in New York. Almost a hundred people had died already and several hundred more were flooding the local hospitals. The feds were trying to get their ass in gear, and the mayor was already talking about closing the island. That was about when her mom turned off the TV and strongly suggested they head to the kitchen and make some cookies.  
Sam glanced at her phone a few times before bed that night, scrolling through her feeds, feeling guilty about being thankful she didn’t know anybody living in New York, trying to remember if anyone at school might have headed there for the holiday. She spent a while playing I Am Bread to try to forget the frightening news, and eventually managed to conk out.

The next day, her brother Michael called home just as they were loading the dishwasher after breakfast. Apparently he’d had some trouble getting through to Mom’s mobile and resorted to the old land line that he and Sam had memorized since they were kids. He was okay, but… there were suspected cases in SF, Chicago, Denver. He was going to stock up on some supplies before things got even more crazy in the stores, and would call back.  
Mom said she’d texted Dad a few times the night before, and that he’d be back around the same time he expected. Sam looked in the pantry and pleaded with her mother to hit the stores now, just like Mike was planning to. She conceded to a trip to the local indie market, and it wasn’t quite as bad as Sam was worried it might be. The hurried shopping and getting everything into the house was enough activity for Sam to work up a sweat, so she hopped in the shower, and when she got out, she heard her parents voices downstairs.

She got dressed — she still remembers exactly which pair of jeans and which sweatshirt — and went to the top of the stairs, calling out."Hi Dad, welcome back."  
It was her mom who answered. "Sam, don’t come downstairs!"

"What?" At first, she wondered if he’d brought back some kind of gift and they were still setting it up to surprise her.  
"Don’t come downstairs!" The tone in her mom’s voice scared her.

Then she heard her dad cough. Oh god, no.

The first step squeaked just like it always did as she put her foot on it, and she heard her mother hurry to the base of the staircase to glare at her.

"Samantha! Stay up there."

"But Mom… what’s going on? Dad’s sick, isn’t he? How bad is he?"

Then her dad’s voice. "Sam, listen to your mother, so she doesn’t get even more freaked out. Bridget, I’m fine. It’s probably just something I picked up on the way to D.C., or even before I left."Her mom turned, looking back to the living room, where her dad was out of view. "Dammit Joel, have you looked at the news?" She didn’t even wait for him to reply before she looked pleadingly back up the stairs. "Sam, please. Stay up there for a bit. Go… pack your stuff, see what it would take to get a flight from D.C — or even better, Richmond to SEATAC."

"To Seattle? What about… "

"Just… look, okay? Maybe you can head back to school like planned, or maybe we need to get you far way. You know what… if you find a good flight, just put it on the shared credit card."Sam sighed, and stared at her mom in silence for a few seconds.

"Go, Sam. please."

"Fine." She stepped back onto the landing and padded back long the carpet runner to her room. While she waited for her laptop to log in, she picked up the phone and tried to call Mike, but got a fast busy signal. She swore, switched to the messaging app he used most, and tapped out a frantic message.

Dad’s sick. Mom’s scaring me, she won’t let me go downstairs. WTF is going on?

The little status text under her message said "Sent", and she watched anxiously for it to change to "Delivered" as she flipped through airline and ticket deal sites one-handed, toweling the rest of her hair dry.

Fifteen minutes and a few news sites she probably shouldn’t have looked at later, she slapped the laptop closed and set about stuffing textbooks and some of her clothes back into her bags. Still nothing back from Mike, dammit.

She’d been able to hear her parents’ voices downstairs, the house never was particularly soundproof. Even though she did miss Mike a little when he left for college, she did enjoy the peaceful nights in her room as she took apart and rebuilt the computer she inherited. Now, it just let her hear the worried and dismissive argument resonating through the floor.

Back at the top of the stairs, she sat on the top step like a little kid on a time-out and called for her mom. Bridget appeared a few moments later, with her auburn hair, just enough red in it for the recessive gene to flare gloriously in her children, pulled back in a loose knot. Sam had long since learned she did that when she was really upset.

Well, she wasn’t the only one right then. "There’s no nonstops from Richmond. They all either leave from D.C. — "  
"No."

"I know, I know. The others go through Chicago or Charlotte. I remember what Mike said about Chicago, so I bought one through CLT. The only one I could get is tomorrow."

"That’ll have to do. The keys for the Toyota are on my dresser, I want you to take them, get onto the rear porch roof and hop down like your brother used to do. Then go to… maybe Megan’s, or Ty’s house. Ask them if you can stay overnight before you head down to Richmond."

"What? No! Nevermind that I don’t even know if they’re home, but I’m not just going to abandon the two of you! Maybe I can help take care of Dad, or what happens if you get sick too?"

"Samantha, why do you think I want you to leave?"

Her father interrupted from the other room. "Because you’re being paranoid, as usual."

A hint of the temper Sam had inherited from both of them but kept a better leash on flared in her mom’s eyes. "Shut up, Joel!" Then, she looked back up the stairs. "Sam, I looked things up online. You know I’ve never been one to hide things from you, but I’m sorry. He probably has the thing from New York. Someone probably brought it down to D.C. and then he picked it up there."  
Sam’s eyes began to flood with tears. "No, Mom…"

"Dammit, Sam. Nobody knows what this is yet, or how it spreads or how long it’s going to last. You need to get away from it."

"Exactly! Nobody knows what this shit is, we don’t know how bad it is out there, or… or if it’s as bad for everyone that gets it. They’re telling people in big cities to start sheltering in place…""Samantha Rose Conroy, please stop arguing with me! Just do as I tell you, for once, without having to analyze it end to end and figure out what the right solution is. Take the damn car keys and go!"

Sam rose to her feet on the stairs, fists clenched at her sides. "I’m not twelve anymore, Mom! And if I go out there, who’s to say I won’t be spreading it? We need to stick together, figure out what’s going on!"

They both glared at each other for a time. Sam studied her mom’s face, and realized she couldn’t see the tears in her mother’s eyes until they started to run down and Bridget took off her glasses to wipe them away. Understanding of how scared she must be, to be scaring her own daughter this much, started to cool Sam’s temper. It probably showed in her face, because her mom’s expression softened too.

"I’m sorry, Sam. I can’t be worried about you while I’m trying to take care of him, and you know I couldn’t live with it if something happened to you. I need to know you’re safe, even if it means you’re far away."

Sam deflated, sinking back to sit on the top step. "I’m sorry too, mom. Please don’t make me go, I love you."

"I love you too, Sam. I always have. But please, do this for me and your father. You and your brother are the lights of my life, and I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you. I know you’re not twelve anymore, you’re a brilliant young lady… and I need you to use that to keep yourself safe. Please."

Tears flooded freely from Sam’s eyes, and it felt like a fist clenched in her chest made every breath hurt. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed quietly for a minute. She just wanted to go down there to hug her mom again, like she was twelve again. But damn it all, that wasn’t what her mother needed from her right now, and in a heartbreaking way, her logic was undeniably sound.

"Please be strong for me, Samantha."  
Oh god. How was that supposed to help? Her mother’s tone just smashed her already broken heart into tiny shards and left her devastated. But deep down in all that hurt was still the daughter of a mom who’d fought cancer and won, the granddaughter of a Vietnam War aviator, the willful student hurling herself into a male-dominated field and excelling… and damnit, if this is what the woman who raised her needed in return…

She lifted her head and looked at her mom again, then glanced to the edge of the living room where her father had stepped silently into view.

"Okay. I love you Mom, Dad."  
Her father started to mumble something that was obscured by a cough, hobbling Sam’s resolve, but the look of gratitude her mom gave her after flinching at the cough propped it up again. "Thank you, Sam. Keep us posted if you can, but above all, be safe. We love you too."

Sam took a deep breath, rose, and strode purposely to her room. She didn’t want to do this, but she had to, promised she would, so she was going to do it with her chin up and god help anyone who got in her way. They’d be a cathartic target for all the turmoil tearing her up inside.

She snatched the keys from her parents’ bedroom, taking a look around at the bed she’d crawled into when she had nightmares, even if it was in a different house now. A perfume bottle she’d never forget the scent of, shoes whose predecessors she’d clomped around experimentally in. She’d process all the feelings around that later, but it felt important to record the memory.  
Then, barging into her brother’s room, grabbing one of his old gym bags from the top shelf of the closet. A quick scan of the room, the handful of toys still left over from his childhood, a stack of books, the Rafael Sabatini pirate novels she’d always steal to read because girls could like pirate stories too. Those brought her pause, and she moved deeper into the room to grab them from the shelf. Odd that she’d never moved them to her room sooner, but now stealing them yet again felt like a nod to the years of their childhood. Those went in the bag as she moved down the hallway to her room again.

There, she emptied her jewelry box into her book bag, praying she wouldn’t need to use the contents as currency. An old jacket from the closet since hers was on a hook downstairs… hopefully the sneakers she’d been wearing that day would last, because her trail shoes were right beneath that coat hook. A few more minutes getting everything organized. All this while wiping her eyes clear every few minutes and sniffling like it was allergy season again.

The bags landed on the roof with thuds as she shoved them through her window, then she clambered through and dragged her laptop backpack after her. She dangled them from the edge of the roof as far as her arm would let her before dropping them into the bushes, hoping that would cushion their descent.

The bushes ended up cushioning her descent too, apparently the tree next to the back porch might have supported sixteen-year-old Mike, but it wasn’t up for grownup Sam. One foot slipped, and the branch in her hands snapped, dumping her onto the ground from several feet up. Ow.

She lay there for a moment, cursing anything she could blame for her current situation, before hauling herself upright and finding where the keys had landed in the dirt.

Her parents were in the living room window when she slammed the trunk shut on the hideous champagne gold Camry. Sam slowed as she moved to the driver’s side door. Dad waved, Mom blew a kiss… Sam held up her hands in a heart shape for several seconds as sobs clawed their way back up her throat.

If she stood there any longer, there was no way she’d be able to drive. Sam got in and started the car, backed out of the driveway drove to the stop sign at the end of the street. After one last glance at her house in the rear view mirror, she made the turn past the weirdly shaped oak tree on the corner and zoomed off into the gloom.

**

Rebecca remembered Sam’s description of a lopsided, scraggly oak at the last intersection before her house. Maybe seeing it again caused the ragged sigh she heard from her right, and again, all she could think to do while driving was spare a sympathetic glance before turning the corner.

That brought them into one end of a… formerly pleasant residential neighborhood. Lots of space between houses that didn’t register as "new" anymore, a few obviously remodeled within the last decade or so. Not as much trash blowing around or abandoned cars blocking up the street as there were deeper in the city.

Some of the houses had plywood nailed up over the windows like a hurricane was coming, and Rebecca’s skin crawled at the idea of eyes watching them from inside. The road sloped gently uphill, and just as it started to curve to the right, Rebecca finished counting off addresses and found Sam’s house.

It was cute, dark slate blue wood siding with off-white trim. A short path from the sidewalk, four or five steps to a low porch with two pillars in that accent color. Single-storied with a large window to the right of the front door, and a second floor stacked on top of a garage to the left. It fit her image of Sam, really. Cozy, functional, some niceties but not extravagant. The lawn was patchy and overgrown and what might have been rose bushes — that would make sense with the family name, Rebecca supposed — framing the front yard were dry and barren.

She nosed the SUV carefully into the driveway and set the parking brake, and looked over at Sam to check on her. Through the window past her, Rebecca could see the other SUV go several houses further up the street, turn round, and come back their direction to park in front of the lawn. Makes sense the guys would scout around a bit, she supposed.

"Hey, Rosie. You okay?"

Sam pressed her lips into a thin line. "I dunno."

"That’s fair. Chrissie, maybe you and Pat can stay with her here, while I check it out with one of the boys?"

Chrissie looked back over her shoulder from where she was sliding her shotgun out from behind the seating area. "Sure, we’ll hang out with her."Rebecca nodded, and took her Tavor as Patrick handed it over to her stock-first. "Thanks, friends."

Landry and Epstein were already out of their ride, carbines in hand, checking the houses around them. Rebecca glanced around before opening her armored door and then exited to follow their example.

When nothing bad happened and Patrick was next to her with his M4, she tightened the comfortable driving slack out of her armor’s side straps, did a quick two-way radio test with him, checked over her Tavor, and patted him on his shoulder. "See you in a bit."

He nodded, and stepped around her towards the front of the vehicle while panning his gun around in watchful sweeps.

Rebecca circled around the SUV’s rear and nodded at the soldiers accompanying them. "Landry, can you back me up on a sneak and peek?"

"You got it sister." He nodded at Epstein — who turned to watch the far side of the street — then jogged across the lawn towards them, keeping an eye on the house.

Christine and Sam had both opened their doors and sat sideways with their weapons cradled their laps. Rebecca gave Chrissie another appreciative smile and got close to Sam.

She leaned in to kiss Sam’s cheek. "Hey, I love you Rosie."

Sam smiled wanly as she held out an open palm with a key in it. "You too. Be safe please."

"I will." She squeezed Sam’s forearm with her offhand, took the key, and turned back to Landry. "Good to go?""Always. Gunny’ll kick my ass if I let something happen to any of you."

Rebecca smiled one last time. "True that." Then, all business. She brought the Tavor up to a ready, lowered her posture into a hunch behind it, and started following its aim up the front steps. Her eyes flicked to a large X spray painted by the door — search and rescue markings. Ronnie had taught her how to interpret them a while back. The two zeroes under the X meant someone had checked the house and found neither survivors nor bodies. Small blessings.

She knelt at the side of the door — nice and solid looking, so decent cover. Again, things seemed to be going their way. Landry patted her shoulder from where he was stacked up behind her, and she slipped the key into the lock slowly, turned it, and pushed.

The door opened smoothly, and no smell of death or rot assailed Rebecca. She partially rose, sweeping her aim across the connected living and dining rooms to the right of the door, paused briefly to study what was probably the kitchen doorway, then checked the top of the staircase that Sam had told her led to the master suite, two bedrooms, and one shared bath.

She waited three breaths, then crept forward, aiming at the kitchen while Landry covered the stairs over her shoulder. She knew nobody was behind the light grey couch from her initial sweep. The dining table had enough visibility through its legs and chairs that she knew it was clear too. That left the kitchen…

… where a heavyset man in navy sweatpants and a grey hoodie stepped into view. She quickly noted his hands were empty so she kept her weapon aimed just below his center mass and glanced to his face. Caucasian, early stages of balding, scruffy mustache and beard the colors of mottled rust.

That loosely matched the description Sam had given him. "Sir, are you…"

"What the hell are you doing in my house?"

"Mister Conroy?"

"Yeah, that’s me. Now tell me why you and your army friend are n my house pointing guns at me, dammit."

Rebecca held her aim point with her right hand, but reached for her radio handset and flipped the voice activation switch by feel. "Sir, what’s your daughter’s middle name?"

"What the fuck does that have to do with anything?""Sir, please."

She heard Sam’s voice outside. "Dad?"

"Sir, please. What is your daughter’s middle name?"

"Rose, goddammit. What the hell…"  
Rebecca sighed in relief and fractionally eased her aim just as she heard loud steps on the front stairs. Sam blew past her, dropping her helmet on the couch on the way, and threw her arms around her father, sobbing.

Rebecca relaxed, lowering her weapon the rest of the way, then glancing to Landry as he was doing the same. She motioned him outside with a small wave and he nodded, but looked upstairs pointedly before making his way out. She nodded back, and settled her weight against the wall where she could see both the ground floor and the stairs while she caught her breath.

Mr. Conroy had been gaping in shock as Sam crossed the room, and Rebecca couldn’t make out the first few words they exchanged… but after she’d lifted the headphones away from her ears, she could clearly make out the next thing he said.

"She’s gone, Sam."

Rebecca’s heart plummeted as Sam let out a small piteous wail and slumped her head against her father’s shoulder again. Damn it all to hell. Rebecca wanted desperately to reach out and comfort her, but held back, hesitant to intrude. This felt like a family matter first.

She heard movement behind her and glanced back. Landry was moving farther away, down the steps, and saying something to the others. Rebecca self-consciously clicked her radio back to push-to-talk. After several seconds, she debated stepping out onto the porch herself, but she heard Sam’s voice again.

"Dad, this is Rebecca… "

Rebecca pushed off the wall and straightened respectfully. "Mr. Conroy, sir. I’m sorry for your loss."

He grunted standoffishly, which she supposed was fair.

"I apologize about the gun, sir. It’s rough out there these days."

Sam smiled weakly at her from where she still half-leaned on her father, eyes red and cheeks sodden. "She helped me get here, Dad."

He seemed to soften a little. "Well, thank you for that."Rebecca nodded, and tried to give Sam an encouraging smile. "Of course. She’s done a lot for me too. I’ll, uh… give you two a little time to catch up. Sam, I’m on the porch if you need me?"

Sam sniffled and took a deep breath. "Okay. Thank you, sugar."

**

Rebecca settled at the edge of the porch, sitting sideways with one foot resting on the step below. She definitely appreciated the bottle of water Christine brought her, and the supportive hand that lingered on hers for a few seconds.

"You okay, hon?"Rebecca shrugged and answered quietly. "Bittersweet. Hurting for her, y’know?"  
Chrissie nodded. "Let her know we all are, when the time is right, okay?"

"I will. Thanks." She wondered if Landry had relayed anything, or if they’d just been able to infer.

Rebecca sat by herself for an extended while, cradling the Tavor in her lap and watching the neighborhood while keeping a discreet ear on the murmurs of conversations inside. She couldn’t make out words, only tone, which was just how she wanted it. She figured twenty minutes or so had gone by when Sam stepped out onto the porch.

"Hey, Remy. C’mon, I wanna show you my room." Sam’s eyes and cheeks were dry, but both still severely reddened despite the trace of perkiness returning to her words. She reached out a hand to help Rebecca stand.

Rebecca took it and rose, pulling Sam into a tight hug once she was up. "I’m so sorry, Sam."

Sam sighed in her arms. "Thanks. I knew anything was a possibility…"

"But that doesn’t help much.""Yeah. You do though. Come on."

Rebecca shifted her gun to hang behind her back as Sam led her inside. Mr. Conroy nodded at her in vague acknowledgement from where he sat at the dining table opening a bottle of liquor, and she tried to smile back. Things between them still felt tense to her.

Up the stairs and down a hall, Sam led her to the bedroom at the end. It was small, but comfortable enough once they were both sitting on the edge of the bed. Sam held Rebecca’s hand and leaned on her with a sigh, but stood after a minute or two and opened the shade, starting to tell her stories about the knickknacks scattered around the desk and wall shelves.

Detached, it was an interesting reversal… Rebecca had recovered vestiges of her young adult life, including only a handful of souvenirs of her childhood that she’d brought to college with her. But the home of her youth was unattainably distant, like everything Sam left behind at her school, five states away. Instead, here sat relics of Sam’s early years, coated in dust. 

She’d blow it off as she held an item up, periodically putting one on the bed to take with them. Others, she set back where they’d come from, some with a sigh. Eventually the array on the bed included a couple of stuffed animals, a little plastic pegasus and dragon, a handful of science fair prize ribbons, and an ornately carved stiff leather mask that looked like a wolf or fox. Rebecca did get a small laugh when Sam held up the last item and blinked at her through it. In contrast with the dark brown leather, her eyes looked like they’d almost reverted to their usual blue-grey.

Then Sam sat back down with yet another a sigh. "He doesn’t want to come with us, Remy. And… the weird thing is I’m a little okay with it. He’s different somehow. I don’t know how much of it is shock from seeing me, still grieving my mom, or just being on his own for so long."

"It’s probably all of those. I saw him drinking as we came in too, but that could be part of it or just coping.""Yeah. There’s a bunch of bottles in the kitchen too, but I can’t exactly blame him." Sam shook a pillow free of its case and started to replace it with the items on the bed. "If I was in a better mood, I’d make a joke about sneaking up to my room with you, but…" She let out a little plaintive noise that was almost a weak laugh, but it fell flat. "I think I’m done here."

"Okay." Rebecca stood and held out a hand to Sam, either to hold hers or to carry the pillowcase if she didn’t want to.

Sam squeezed the proffered hand, but let go again and walked down the hallway with the pillowcase slung over her shoulder. She stopped at the door nearest the stairs and pushed it open with one finger, trepidation visible in her posture. 

Rebecca glanced past her and realized it must have been Sam’s parents’ bedroom. She didn’t follow as Sam entered, but watched from the door. Sam was lightly touching the furniture as she moved through the room, showing particular interest in a wide, low dresser with a vanity mirror. At one point she lifted a shawl or sweater from the closet to her nose, but set it back with evident disappointment.

Looking around while Sam circulated, the room was in disarray, but looked… old. They’d certainly been into enough abandoned residences to start developing a sense for recent occupation, and Rebecca suspected Mr. Conroy had been sleeping downstairs.

A quiet clink recalled her focus, and she saw Sam at the dresser again, picking up a bottle of perfume. She already had a string of pearls wrapped around her hand. Sam turned around and studied the room one more time, then drifted back to the door.Rebecca smiled sympathetically as she stepped aside, then preceded Sam down the stairs by a few steps. She made momentary awkward eye contact with Mr. Conroy, then moved farther towards the door so Sam would have room at the base of the stairs.

She was shifting her Tavor back around to a front carry when she heard Sam speak again.

"Dad, would it be alright if I took Mom’s pearls, and perfume? I don’t have anything else of hers."

Rebecca noticed his expression was distant, but turning stormy when he eventually replied. "Why wouldn’t you take them, skulking out of here with treasures in a pillowcase like a common burglar…"

"What?!" Sam actually took a step back in surprise, and her voice was full of hurt.

"Just take what you want, take everything and just leave again, like you did before."

"Dad! That’s not fair. Mom ordered me, begged me to go. She was scared when you came home sick…"

Mr. Conroy stood, sweeping the bottle to the carpeted floor with a heavy thunk. "I didn’t have the damned 'Dollar Flu', Samantha! I tried telling her that, but as usual, she wouldn’t listen, wouldn’t be rational about things!"

Rebecca heard Sam’s tone chill. "You know what? I’m not asking anymore." Sam stalked to the couch and set the pillowcase down, necklace and perfume inside, and picked up her helmet.  
"You know, maybe you should have answered your phone when she called and texted you over and over. She went to go look for you when Mike said you never made it to Seattle. Who knows where you were, but you damned well weren’t at your friends’ houses like she hoped you’d be."

Sam dangled the helmet in her left hand and dug her phone from her thigh pocket. The room was tensely quiet as she waited for the phone to start up, and then she stepped closer to her father. "Look. I never got any messages." She looked at the phone herself again, tapping it a few times, then held it out once more. "I even tried to call, to send my own. Nothing went through, Dad. I never made it to Seattle because I never fucking made it to Richmond. Megan’s family wouldn’t let me stay, nobody answered at Tyrone’s. I tried to drive down Sunday night, and walked back after getting run off the road. I was unconscious a whole fucking day, by the way. By that point nobody would even pick up a girl hitchhiking by herself, and I walked thirty miles just to get to downtown, where some strangers took me in and fucking fed me. Mom told me to stay safe, so that’s what I tried to do."

"She only got sick because she went out looking for you."

"That’s bullshit, Dad." Sam turned off the phone and shoved it back into her pocket. "You want to talk about not looking at messages, maybe you should have read some of the news on your train ride home instead of zoning out to whatever political podcast you were into that week!"

Rebecca felt like speaking up would only make things worse, but she knew Sam was right. Not everyone who caught the modified virus died, and infections could take anywhere from a few hours to ten or twelve days to show up. It was perfectly plausible he’d caught it in D.C. and brought it home, recovered, and then Sam’s poor mom went symptomatic a week later.

"I told her not to go, but like usual, she didn’t care. I told her it was stupid, that it was too dangerous."

Rebecca could see Sam’s jaw clenching, the tendons on the side of her neck taut as she replied. "Oh sure. Then you were trying to be safe? You should have known that was the last thing you should’ve tell her when her kids were concerned. And, I heard you argue with her before. I’m pretty sure you told her she was stupid, not that going out was." Sam lifted her arm to jab a finger at her father, and then towards the street… and back at him again. "You always were consistent about that… and you know what? Don’t you speak ill of her. You may be my father, but I will not let anyone badmouth Mom!" 

"Don’t you talk to me that way!"

"Oh fuck you, Joel."

Rebecca’s eyes widened as she saw Joel Conroy raise his hand to slap Sam, and started to lift her Tavor and take a step forward. Maybe she could just put a round into the wall to spook him…

…but before Rebecca got her gun up, Sam had already swatted Joel’s hand away with her right fist, rammed her helmet into his face with her left, and pulled her knife from its sheath. The chisel-pointed tanto blade glinted like a poised viper as she stepped back from the helmet blow, balanced on the balls of her feet in stance Rebecca knew very well.

"If you raise your hand to me again, you’ll be bleeding even more."

Joel held his nose silently. He could glare daggers all he wanted, Rebecca’s money was on Sam’s real knife.  
Sam stood just as wordlessly, unwavering, waiting for his next move. Eventually Joel glanced at Rebecca and her gun that was only barely not aimed at him, then back at Sam, and slumped sullenly into one of the dining chairs.

"That’s what I thought." Sam sheathed her knife, pointedly crossed behind Rebecca and her line of fire, and scooped up the pillowcase from the couch. At the door, she looked over her shoulder. "I regret that things went like this," she said flatly, then crossed the porch and plodded down the steps.

Rebecca made eye contact with Joel and sighed. She regretted it too, briefly contemplating if this was worst-case scenario. As she started to back out the door, photos next to it caught her attention. She scanned them quickly and lit on one in particular where everyone was smiling — a high school graduation picture for Sam’s brother.

A younger, happier Joel smiled out of the picture, one hand on the shoulder of a proud-looking boy with strawberry blonde hair barely peeking out from under his mortarboard cap. A slightly shorter woman with reddish-brown hair past her shoulders flanked the boy’s other side, and a much younger Sam stood in front of her, braces visible in her broad grin.

After a moment’s indecision, she reached out with her left hand and took the frame from the wall. 

Joel started to rise to his feet. "Hey!"

Rebecca met his eyes again. She’d been pressing her thumb against the Tavor’s safety when she lifted it before, now she pushed it from Safe to Fire to Auto with two audible clicks. "I’ve shot family of people I love before. Please make a good choice."

Joel sat again, fuming.  
"Thank you." Rebecca backed out of the doorway, pulling it closed with the outer fingers of her off hand.

Sam was already in the front seat with her arms folded and the door closed. Chrissie looked up at Rebecca with a shocked and puzzled expression. Patrick glanced over, then returned to keeping a cautious eye on the houses on his side of the SUV, and Epstein and Landry waited expectantly.

Rebecca nodded towards the car while Chrissie was looking at her, then raised her hand and made a circular gesture she’d seen Ronnie use to get people moving again. She stopped at the rear of the SUV where the hatch was still open and dug in their supplies for an MRE — one of the less appetizing ones, whatever. Then, with a Sharpie from her pack, she scribbled grouchily on the meal pouch.

If you’re ever ready to talk to your daughter in a civil manner, go to the county airport.

While Chrissie finished putting something away and closed the tailgate, Rebecca lobbed the MRE onto the porch with an underhanded toss. She kinda hoped the Pop Tart inside broke. Stupid airdrop-friendly packaging.

Back on the driver’s side, she double-checked that she’d safetied the Tavor before passing it to Patrick and climbing in. Tugging the door closed, she glanced over at Sam, heart full of worry. "I’m sorry, Rosie."

"Stop fucking apologizing for things and just drive, Rebecca." Sam almost never snapped at her, but Rebecca let it slide. Then, Sam’s tone was tinged with a hint of apology. "Please."

"Okay." She’d let Sam cool off, let her choose when to talk about things. Rebecca held the improvised ignition switch to the Start position, backed into the street, and drove past the weird tree again.  
At the causeway intersection, she stopped and waited. 

After a few seconds Sam lifted her head from where she had it propped up on her fist against the window and looked at her. Rebecca silently lifted the pointer finger on each hand at opposite sides of the steering wheel, with a questioning eyebrow raise. If Sam wanted to, she was willing to call the whole thing off and try again later. They could just head home and get some puppy snorgles and hugs from Allie — but Sam twitched her lips with a slight frown and waved her hand towards the left.

Rebecca wasn’t about to press her for confirmation, so she swung the SUV in that direction and continued their journey away from town.

**

Just like Sam had told her father — tried to, anyway — she was turned away apologetically from the home of one old classmate, and nobody seemed to be home at another. She waited an hour in hopes they might return, but eventually gave up. She called home, but the landline rang and rang, which wasn’t right… the answering machine should have picked up. She couldn’t get a call to Mike or either of her parents to go through. Her phone still showed a signal so she tried to send texts and chat app messages to both, letting them know she’d decided to just drive down to Richmond and see if she could find a hotel, or even worst case crash in the car or airport.

She probably shouldn’t have used quite that choice of words. Most of the way to Richmond at nearly 10 PM, some asshole cut her off several miles short of the beltway. She was tired, emotionally spent, and not used to her mom’s car — it constantly pulled to the left and the brakes were mushy. When she tried to dodge the first impact, something else clipped her, sending the rear end swinging and she overcorrected.

The last thing she remembered was a faceful of airbag, then woke up in a local clinic with a square of gauze taped to her forehead. Her shoulder and arm hurt, but everything still moved well enough while she fumbled for the call button. The medtech who came in a few minutes later filled in a few gaps, including the fact that she wasn’t looking at a sunrise outside — she’d missed her flight. One of the deputies working the crash scene dropped off her bags while the staff were putting her through a CT scan, but the car had been towed.  
Even after being unconscious for nearly a full day, she was still exhausted. She was also starving, so once someone actually told her what city she was in so she could pass the concussion check quizzes, even the small-time hospital food was appreciated. When she held that down for two hours, the doctor cleared her for stuff from the vending machines, but still wanted her to stay another 24 hours for observation. Come dawn, though… the same nursing assistant was still on duty, and he told her someone had just been admitted with symptoms of whatever the hell was on the news. He strongly implied she was within her rights to refuse further treatment and get out of there. Strongly. Implied.

She was together enough to catch the hint, so she wolfed down one more tray of hospital food, let him change out the gauze on her forehead for a big bandaid, and checked herself out. Phones had completely gone to crap, she was able to get through to one local hotel using the hospital’s land line but was pretty rudely rebuffed. She despondently told the helpful tech she’d had nowhere to go, and was going to try to make it back home for lack of any better idea. He tried four times to call her a cab since the rideshare apps were totally borked by that point, but emphasis on "tried". She thanked him anyway, and told him to be safe. He told her he’d try… and slipped her a mylar emergency blanket and a single surgery mask.

Sam really hoped he was okay.

She started walking north, getting about six or eight miles before she abandoned her textbooks. She probably should have done it sooner.

**

Rebecca was startled when Sam punched the dashboard repeatedly with an angry strangled squeal, enough that her grip on the steering wheel twitched and the SUV wibbled briefly. She glanced over — Sam wasn’t sobbing, but tears were flowing freely again and her jaw was firmly set. Looked more like rage crying.

Rebecca used the turn signal to let the guys behind know she was slowing intentionally and pulled over to the side of the road. "Hey Chrissie, can you drive for a bit?"

"Of course, babe."  
Patrick caught Rebecca’s attention while she was turning back to Sam. "Hey. Do you want me to ride with the other guys? Give you some privacy?"  
Rebecca glanced at Sam, who replied with a minute headshake, so she relayed that sentiment to Patrick with a dismissive face. Everyone shuffled around, and soon Rebecca had her arms around Sam in the back seat. She’d started cautiously, but Sam leaned into her first touch abruptly.

Chrissie started driving again, and Rebecca murmured quietly in Sam’s ear to be just barely audible over the road noise. "Hey, honey. I didn’t want to smother you before you were ready."

Sam let out a ragged exhale but Rebecca felt none of the almost vibrating tension drain from her body yet. "Thanks. I’m ready. I need you like a reactor needs control rods right now. Is it sane to hate and love someone at the same time?"

Rebecca smoothed Sam’s hair with gentle caresses. Scientific references were a good sign at least. "Who knows what normal is, but I do think it’s natural. Maybe it takes more to make you hate someone you care about, but makes it worse when you pass the tipping point?"

"I guess. I’ll let you be reasonable for me right now. I still want to go back and hit him again."  
"Okay. I can do that. The being reasonable part. I wouldn’t want to steal the other satisfaction from you."

Sam was quiet for a few minutes in Rebecca’s arms. "The worst part is that him blaming me makes me blame him. It just drags me into his bullshit."

"Mmm. Don’t be too hard on yourself for that."

"Oh, I’m not."

Rebecca chuckled softly. "Right, right. That’s my schtick. Should I apologize too?" Sam poked her in the ribs, but she felt Sam’s shoulders slump a little.

"Thank you for having my back."  
Everything Rebecca could think of to say was too sappy, so she just kissed Sam’s head and kept holding her.

A half hour of meandering progress later, Patrick looked up from one of the maps in the front seat. "I think we’re coming up on one of those waypoints we marked. Anybody hungry?"

It was still a little before noon, but sure, physically refueling might help emotionally too. They’d picked out several locations along possible routes that looked like they’d be sheltered from view, easy to secure. One of them just after they turned onto side roads again was a dry creek bed under a wide bridge. They pulled into slowly to avoid giving their position away with a dust cloud.

Landry and Epstein pulled up alongside them, about a car length away, and unloaded two camouflage nets similar to those sheltering the roof back home. Since they were concealed from above by the bridge, they strung them across the ends of the SUVs and the space between them, creating a little pocket of concealment.

Sam started in on her food slowly, but eventually her appetite warmed up and she laid in to the remainder with gusto. The six of them sat in their own little pairs, but at one point, Epstein walked over and held out a pack of M&M’s to Sam.

"I come bearing chocolate. They’re only a month or two out of date."

Sam stared at the pouch of candy for a second then looked up at him as she took it. "You’re a smart guy."

He nodded with a smile and retreated to where he’d been sitting with Landry.

Rebecca poked Sam and looked at the pouch with interest. "Do I get any?"

Sam sighed — one of letting tension go, this time. "You’ve earned 'em."

Rebecca peeled one of her gloves off to expose a clean palm. "Hey, like always, we take care of each other. It might be my turn next."

"Ugh. I suppose we can only go up from how mine went."

"Please don’t jinx us, huh?" Rebecca pondered whether to retrieve the picture frame yet, but decided to give things more time before stirring up Sam’s emotions again. 

Instead, she just sat with her, sharing the enjoyment of a little old world treat.

**

Everyone seemed to be in unspoken agreement that they could use a little break, so it was another idle half hour and a few trips to the bushes on the other side of the riverbed before they were prepping to leave again.

Chrissie was stretching her back as she looked over at Rebecca and Sam. "Hey, you know, I was thinking. Things would be a little more roomy if we mixed things up a bit. Not that we mind your company and all, but we could do three and three in each vehicle if Landry and Epstein wanna split up."

Rebecca glanced at Sam. "You good with different company, or do you wanna stick to family for now?"Chrissie lowered her arms after a couple of satisfying pops. "Oh shit, yeah. You know what, if you even want the car to yourselves for a bit, that’s cool."

Sam brushed them off. "Eh, it’s alright. I’m not gonna be in much of a talking mood for a while anyway. Looking at the maps will give me something to do."

Landry glanced at Epstein where they sat across the little campsite, then chimed in. "Hey, we’re good either way. These puppies are way better than we’re used to."

Chrissie looked to Rebecca and got a nod. "Okay, cool. Our knees thank you, friends!"

Christine and Patrick grabbed their essentials and day packs from the back. Meanwhile, Rebecca could clearly hear Landry laughing at Epstein.  
"Brother you just don’t wanna carry your shit twenty feet, do you?"

"Hey, my tools are fucking heavy, man!"

Soon after, Landry extended his hand and bumped his fist against Patrick’s as they passed each other and tossed his pack with an attached bedroll in the back. Rebecca noticed he brought his M4 with him to the back seat and laid it across the floorboards after taking down one of the camouflage nets.

She hauled herself into the driver’s seat just as Sam pulled her door closed, and Landry climbed in. He was jovial as he settled into the back seat, extending an arm along the seatbacks and putting one leg up to his calf across it. 

"Wow, I like how that gal thinks. This is great!"

Rebecca was impressed with his good manners keeping his foot off the leather, but also pondered that with his height not very different than Sam’s, he didn’t really need much in the way of legroom.

Even Sam chuckled a little at his playful attitude, and Rebecca pondered that maybe his humor was why she was content working with him that day at the armory. Hopefully the little shuffle would help out her mood over the miles to come.

**

The first leg of their drive had taken them off at an oblique angle from the main route Rebecca might have originally used to get to her uncle’s. That made for a long segment of the trip on small side roads weaving through hills, more or less in the general direction they wanted to go.

One thing Ronnie insisted on is that whoever was navigating constantly track where their position on the dashboard the GPS corresponded to on the overhead photography she’d procured for them. Once they were past where she’d been able to send drone flights, they switched from recent aerial images to a series of poster-sized satellite images that were between three and six months old. The hope was they’d be able to see major obstructions and find a path around them — and Ronnie encouraged them to always have more than one possible route in mind.

That activity really did keep Sam busy, which helped her keep her mind off the mild heart attack she nearly had when Rebecca spooked and twitched the wheel before the rest break. Seems like the memory of that car crash still lurked in the back of her mind, and could be summoned forth by similar physical sensations. She hadn’t told Rebecca that sudden jolt of passing terror was part of what made her more receptive to the affection afterwards, briefly bumping her off the track of rage she was looping through that had finally reached the point of physical outburst. 

She’d been processing on the whole unpleasant odyssey long enough she thought she had a pretty good handle on it, especially with the comfortable home she had nowadays. But good fucking lord, her own father trying to blame her for Mom getting sick, that was a new one she’d never expected. And trying to take a swing at her… well. She definitely wasn’t the girl who’d fallen off the porch that night anymore. Maybe someday he’d pull his head out of the ass and realize it didn’t have to be anyone’s fault, but until he did, she sure as hell wasn’t going to let him point the finger at her.

Or insult her mother.

She’d put some music on from her phone and was just starting finally starting to zone out to the alternating swaths of trees and fields going by, when Rebecca slowed for a turn, then decelerated more as they came around it.

**

Rebecca glanced over at Sam. "Hey, how’re we doing, chief navigation officer?"She could have poked around with the GPS herself, but used the excuse to engage with Sam a little bit.

Sam obliged her with a glance at the map, rather than bothering to zoom out on the GPS. "About halfway to Culpeper. Hey, do you mind if I put on some music?"

"Sure, go for it."  
Sam probably glanced back at Landry too, because Rebecca saw him in the mirror as he waved amenably. She laughed to herself when he went back to looking out the far window, bobbing his head like he was already listening to his own tunes. Man, she wanted some of whatever he was drinking at breakfast time.

They’d been jamming along for a good five or six songs when Rebecca brought them around a curve and saw a Humvee parked across the road about a quarter mile ahead, another at the side of the road behind it. A pair of figures in uniform rose from the shade of a tree and moved towards the road and gestured for her to stop.

The blocking Humvee was occupying the opposite lane and about a foot of hers, so she slowed to a halt slightly askew from the center line. She saw two more men sitting in the front seats of the far Humvee as the pair from under the tree approached the side of the SUV, and she lowered the armored window as far as it would go — about 3/4 of the way down.

"Hey, how’s it going guys." She figured they might as well start off friendly. 

"Good afternoon miss." A soldier with tanned skin and pockmarked face approached, while his buddy stood casually several feet off to his side. She guessed these guys were having a pretty slow day. "Where’re you heading today?""Up towards the Blue Ridges, trying to get to some family out that way."

"Uh-huh. Just the two vehicles in your group?"

"Yeah, in case one breaks down, y’know. What’re you guys doing out here? It’s good to see some friendlies."

The soldier talking to her looked over their vehicle, and then the other SUV for a moment. "Just security. Gotta check who might be coming into town and all that.""Ah, cool." 

He stepped closer to her window, shading his eyes to see inside better. "That’s some pretty serious tactical gear you’re wearing.""Oh, uh… yeah. It’s pretty gnarly back where we’re from. Just gotta be safe. I swear we’re not looking to bring any trouble into town, if it’s really a problem, we can go around."

"No, I don’t think you need to. Where are you coming from?"

Before she answered, Landry leaned forward between the two seats, a hand on one with his elbow in front to steady him. "Hey Corporal, how’s it hanging." He lifted his hand to salute, which the corporal outside returned. Rebecca pondered for a minute how Ronnie would’ve had many opinions about how sloppy he was. Sure, he was returning a salute, which meant he was a higher rank, but c’mon dude, a little respect for your brothers in arms.  
Landry leaned back into his seat, and the corporal started talking to her again. "What kind of weapons are you folks carrying in there?"

She wasn’t sure what set it off, but a familiar prickle ran through the back of her neck. It was the same sensation when she checked over her shoulder when she was walking alone at night, or felt reluctant to take the drink some dude at a house party offered. "Just some light stuff, enough for personal defense, y’know. A rifle or two."

His reaction to that seemed pretty neutral. "Well, we’re gonna have to search your vehicles before we let you into town. Can you step out of the car please?"

Landry shifting into view drew her eye to the rear view mirror, and she saw him very subtly shaking his head at her. She was getting a hinky feeling, and something in his exchange with the guy must have been off too.

"Eh… I’m not sure we can do that. What unit are you fellas with?"

"Lady, get out of the car!"

Lady… miss… not a single ma’am. Shitty salute, whatever Landry keyed in on, not using the Humvee as cover as a vehicle approached. Yeah, this was bullshit. She reached for the gearshift and window switch simultaneously.

When she did that, the guy outside lunged in aggressively, trying to grab for the gearshift or keys with one hand and her right wrist his other.Pfft, good luck grabbing keys that aren’t there, asshole! Rebecca leaned away, using her left forearm to shove his forward, bumping them over the top of the steering wheel as she did. She heard the sound of Sam picking up her gun and Landry moving in the back seat, either for another gun or to help her, but she didn’t need to wait for either of them. In a smooth motion, Rebecca snatched her pistol from the familiar holster on her lower left , moved it back and above her left arm, and aimed it right at him.  
"Back off!" She really didn’t want to fire it inside the car, so close to her face, but was hoping his desire to avoid getting shot point-blank in his face would be greater.

She felt and heard the car clunk into gear and realized Sam must have shifted it for her. Attagirl. As the assailant withdrew, she kept the gun aimed at him, grabbed the wheel with her left hand, and stomped on the gas.

The engine roared, chirping the scrabbling tires as it strained to overcome the extra weight of the SUV’s armor. Patrick was reassuringly fast off the line behind her as they dashed past the obstructing Humvee — maybe he saw the reverse lights flash as Sam shifted gears.

Once they were gaining momentum, the SUVs pulled strongly well up past 60 miles an hour. She knew only the newest Humvees could go much faster than that, so she eased off when they reached 70 to 75.

Only then did she take a moment to swear, check the pistol safety position by feel, and hand it over to Sam so she could get her second hand on the wheel. She glanced in the rear view mirrors twice to check on their friends and for any pursuers, but eventually focused on the road in front of her, figuring Landry was already staring out the rear windows. "Everybody okay?"

Sam answered first. "Jesus babe, we should be asking you that. Are you?" 

"Yeah, good enough." Rebecca glanced in the center mirror. "Thanks for the confirmation that was squirrelly, man. What tipped you off?"

Landry was picking up his M4, but put it down and reached for her Tavor. "His sleeves didn’t match the smaller stripes by his buttons. You mind if I borrow this? We’re not out of the woods yet."

"Do what you gotta do, man. Sam, I need some options to ditch those bastards." Rebecca glanced in the side mirror again while she heard Sam rustling the maps. "Shit. Two pickups chasing us. They must’ve been hiding nearby."

The radio Epstein had installed in the vehicle crackled and Chrissie came on. "Hey, they’re shooting at us. The glass is holding so far but Epstein says the rear windows don’t roll down!"

Landry swore as he checked theirs and discovered the same thing. Crap, fixed windows must be easier when installing the bulletproof glass. No sunroof either.

Rebecca leaned harder on the gas, but it sounded like they were reaching the top of the engine’s power curve. "Shit. Ideas?"

Sam spoke up. "The taser ball’s in the back, but I’ve got no idea if it would survive landing… and it wouldn’t catch up if we miss."

"Ugh. Dammit." She heard Landry unbuckling his seatbelt and glanced in the mirror. He’d moved across the seats and was wrapping the seatbelt behind her around one of his forearms, which were the size of her calves. "What’re you up to, man?"

"Your fancy space gun is easy enough to handle I should be able to shoot one handed. I’m gonna push the door open and shoot through the crack."  
"You’re fucking crazy, but okay. Enjoy that 60 mag."

"You know it sister!"

Rebecca shook her head and briefly made note of which direction she’d have to turn the wheel to keep him in the vehicle if he lost his balance. Please don’t let it come to that. "Sam, tell Chrissie to pass us." She eased off the gas as Sam relayed the instructions, and Patrick moved their SUV up and around them. Rebecca could see Chrissie and Epstein looking at them with concerned expressions, and then they were past.

She got back on the gas as soon as they were, but could tell the two pickups were already closer. It didn’t look like they’d be able to outrun them with the armor weighing the SUVs down. Good thing they had a door gunner.

Rebecca heard Landry grunt against the door as he unlatched it, propping it open against the wind pressure just an inch while he picked her gun up from the seat in front of him. He held it to his shoulder, then shoved harder on the door and jammed the muzzle out. She supposed she could always get another flashlight if it got fucked up (and they got out of this situation).

She heard a quick experimental burst from Landry, then another, but he swore and she didn’t see any effects in the rear view mirror. Incoming fire cracked the glass on the tailgate several times, making her and Sam cringe. She cast about for ideas in her head, and figured one was worth a try. "Hey Landry! I’m gonna try to line up your shots, stitch across their windshield!"  
"Copy!" Landry’s voice was muffled yelling back over her shoulder, but it was audible enough.

Rebecca eased across the center line, trying to lure the trucks behind her to follow suit. They didn’t come as far as she’d like, but it was something… so she adjusted the wheel just enough to drift back to the right as smoothly as she could. She heard Landry firing several more times, but couldn’t look back, too worried about keeping them on the road as they got closer and closer to the occasional roadside mailbox whizzing by. "Anything?"

"No joy, sister!"

Sam lifted her eyes from the map, turning to look out the back window. "He spooked them a little, few windshield hits, but that’s it."

"Shit." Rebecca set her jaw and tried the same move again, without any better luck. She hoped the upcoming curve would give them a brief respite, but instead she just heard incoming rounds glance off the right flank of the SUV with pinging and cracking sounds.  
On the opposite swing of the gentle switchback winding through low grassy hills, she tried turning in tight, trying to pan Landry’s line of fire across their pursuers. Unfortunately, she had to chicken out when the steering wheel started to feel unsteady and an "ASC" light flashed on the dashboard. "Sure would be nice to have a fucking turret."  
As she floored it away from the turn the SUV stabilized and she tried to clear her head of the panic encroaching her thoughts. She needed to get those assholes lined up off their left side for a few seconds — not dodging back and forth — and hope it was a big enough window for Landry to send some shots home. But these fuckers just didn’t wanna cooperate. Fine. If she couldn’t make them cooperate, she’d make them want to.

"Both of you, hold on!"

Rebecca drifted into the right half of the uncomfortably narrow two lane road they were racing along, watched her side mirror for the lead truck behind them to do the same… and stood on the brakes. Inertia drove her against her seatbelt and she heard Sam and Landry grunt over the protesting tires and antilock brakes thumping the pedal beneath her foot. Come on, you fuckers. Landry, time to earn your keep…

Her gambit worked as the pickup’s driver swerved left in surprise. Landry had managed to stay upright — and present of mind — enough to exploit the moment of exposure, indulging in a long sustained volley through the crack in the door.

Rebecca could only see part of the pursuing truck past the edge of his door, but grinned viscerally at the sparkle reflecting from kernels of shedding safety glass. She let her foot off the brake and started accelerating again, trying to keep it smooth so Landry could correct his aim as he continued firing.

Then the truck disappeared from her limited view in the mirror as Landry shouted in triumph — and a flash of movement drew her eye back to the reflected sight of the truck, tumbling destructively behind them.

Landry collapsed back into the seat behind her, chuckling. "You drive like a madwoman, sister."

It took a few more relieved breaths before Rebecca replied. "Then they shouldn’t have made me mad. Sam, escape route?"

Sam released her grip on the dashboard and handle above her door, reaching for the radio. "Chrissie, tell Pat to take the next right."

Rebecca glanced in the middle rear view mirror again. "Babe, they’ll still see us."

"That’s the point."

**

Rebecca glanced to the right through gaps in the sparse trees as they tore along a somehow even narrower road. It looked like the second truck had come to a halt behind the rolled one. Whether it was simply blocked or stopped to help, she’d take it.

Meanwhile, Sam was on the radio to Chrissie again. "Mile and a half on this until we hit solid tree cover. Then both next lefts, ten miles apart."Rebecca lifted one hand from the wheel to poke at the GPS, zooming it out. Sam was taking them back across the road they’d originally been on, beyond the view of their pursuers. It was roundabout, but devious. "Nice."  
Sam grinned then slumped back against the seat, lowering the maps with a sigh. "Let’s not do that again."

"Yeah, right there with ya." Rebecca glanced in the mirror. "You alright back there, Landry?"

He was sitting back on the other side now, behind Sam, rubbing red seatbelt marks on his forearm. "Ten fingers and ten toes. Fun little gun you’ve got there."

"You did good. I really didn’t want to have to drive and shoot at the same time if they got past you… or have Sam’s SMG in my face."

He gave her an informal Boy Scout-style salute and turned his attention to draining a significant portion of a canteen, so Rebecca shifted her attention back to Sam. "Y’okay, Rosie?"

Sam was still catching her breath. "Ish. Starting to think I’ll run out of adrenaline by the time today is over."

Rebecca reached over to squeeze her hand briefly before grasping the steering wheel again. "You wanna try checking in with Ronnie? She should probably know about this."

"Yeah, okay." Sam fiddled with the radio controls where it was bolted to the center console near her leg, then started transmitting again. "Victor Three, Echo. Victor Three, Echo, come back."  
Sam waited several seconds and tried again. "Damn. Guess we’re out of range or line of sight." Then, into the radio handset again, "Any Victor units from Echo Two. Please respond."

A crackly reply came back a moment later. "Echo, go for Victor Two Romeo."

Sam and Rebecca both breathed sighs of relief. Davis and his folks were at the armory, last they’d heard. "Victor Two, Echo. Encountered unknown hostile checkpoint near grid four-eight-triple-zero, four-zero-eight-double-zero. We’re fine, pursuit evaded. Continuing mission. Please relay status to Victor Three Six, over."

"Copy, Echo Two. Hostiles near four-eight-zero-zero-zero, four-zero-eight-zero-zero. Echo green, charlie mike. Will relay. Over."

Rebecca gently reminded Sam about the uniforms and Humvees.

"Shit, right." She pushed the transmit key on the handset again. "Victor Two, supplemental - initial hostile contacts were in US military uniforms and vehicles. Additionals in civilian trucks." Then after a moment’s contemplation, "Comm security unknown, over."

Fuck. Rebecca had been too busy to think of that, and was glad Sam did. Hopefully the fact that Tierman regularly ordered new encryption seeds for her units meant the badguys couldn’t hear them, even if they possessed and knew how to use military radio gear.

Rebecca had time to think all that through before the reply came back. "Victor Three copies. Any additional traffic? Over."

"Negative, Victor Three. Echo out."

"Stay safe, Echo. Victor Three out."Everyone stayed silent for the next few minutes, as Rebecca made the second left turn back towards the original road. After they crossed that intersection, Sam spoke up again.

"So… funny thing. There’s no fucking towns near here. Do you want a convenient shady spot overlooking where we first ran into those assholes so we can see where they go, or do you wanna just keep heading northwest?"

Rebecca grinned over at her. "Well when you sell it like that… it would probably be good to get a little more intel on them. Let’s talk to the others though, offline."

"I figured you’d say both of those. I’ll find somewhere to pull over for a minute."

**

Sam was good for her word. After a quick roadside conversation inside a partially enclosed tractor shed, she guided them up a winding road into the hills bordering the valley they’d been traveling through. Right near the crest, the trees gave way to a ridge top road with excellent lines of sight.

Landry suggested they park the SUV’s blocking the road behind them for cover, just before exiting the woods. He stayed there watching their flank with Patrick and Christine, and Rebecca led the others forward — Sam for the maps and Epstein in the hopes he might be able to recognize something useful about the Humvees.

About a hundred yards past where they’d parked was a gravel turnout at the side of the road. As they approached the edge where it dropped off into the hillside slope, they hunkered down and belly-crawled the last several feet to peer over the side with binoculars and the long scope on Felicia. Sam helped them match their position to the view, and it didn’t take long to follow the curving county road to a familiar looking tree and cluster of vehicles.  
Miles away, there was no hope Rebecca could tag one of their attackers from there. It didn’t stop her from fantasizing about it though. "Looks like the one pickup truck came back. Strange that they’re just sitting around though."

"I guess they’re not worried about us coming back, or calling friends," Sam muttered. "Fools."

"Right? Lance, can you pick out anything special about their rides?"

Rebecca heard him shift on the dirt and gravel past Sam. "Other than the fact that there’s nothing special at all, no. Those are just pretty standard cargo and troop carriers, most exciting thing might be a winch."

"At least there’s that. These guys seem pretty small time. Locals who scooped up some surplus trying to trick folks?""Probably. We saw incidents of that overseas too."

"Charming." Sam’s voice was possibly record levels of droll.

Rebecca lifted her head away from the scope and looked at her in concern, but wasn’t sure what to do about it just then. This day was hitting Sam unfairly hard and Rebecca deeply wished she could do something to fix it for her. Having to accept she couldn’t sucked, big time. It was especially difficult whenever she looked at Sam’s eyes, absent their usual spark. Just something smoldering there within… even a blaze would’ve been more familiar.

She waited several minutes until Epstein was back down the hill in search of an available tree. The next time Sam to look up from the binoculars, Rebecca lay a gentle hand on her elbow. "Hey, any time you need to talk…"

Sam set the binoculars down and rested her head on her folded arms, looking at Rebecca. "I know, sugar. I know you wanna help. If I think of something, I’ll let you know. Promise."

"Okay. I’ll stuff my pockets with pennies until you’re ready."

That at least brought a little smile that managed to touch Sam’s eyes briefly. "Sounds like a plan, thank you Remy." With that, she resumed her vigil through the binoculars.

Rebecca might have given her rifle a cat-like name, but right now as she withdrew her hand, she couldn’t help feeling like Sam, her dear vivacious Sam, was the dangerous tension crouched in the grass next to her.

Close to sunset, maybe an hour before, the tiny distant figures entered their vehicles. As the afternoon had drawn long, Rebecca told Epstein to break out the night vision goggles, one in each driver’s seat, and to pull the fuses for the SUV’s daytime running lights. Now, once it was clear their foes were on the move, she gestured at both vehicles and made a key-turning motion.

Sam had picked out two more vantage points that their group raced to along the ridge in the fading light, not quite needing the light amplification yet. They also didn’t need both locations — at the first, they waited for their quarry to come into view, then watched them turn down a side road, into the shade of a valley that seemed to widen beyond the initial constricting gully. Rebecca thought she caught a glint in the distance, called for Landry to bring up the goggles, and held them to her eyes.

Most of the terrain on the far side of the valley was still whited out in the fading sun. The auto contrast took some time to compensate, darkening the gulley… and drew out a pair of bright pinpoints in the distance.

The vermin had a nest.

**

Epstein got a compass bearing to the valley, which he and Sam used in conjunction with the GPS to identify the location on topographic and aerial maps. The aerial view of the area showed a couple of rural homesteads back there, probably farms, but not much in the way of detail. Only one paved road in, but… there was an unmarked fire road that dropped into it from the southeast.  
They raced to the other end of the fire road in the receding daylight. Progress along it was painfully slow, hoping to minimize their dust trail over the crest until they reached the covering woods at the edge of the valley. There, it became more about noise discipline as they kept the RPMs on the noisy V8s low. Fortunately, the SUVs’ soccer mom roots meant they stayed at suburb-friendly volumes below 35 miles per hour. They crawled to a standstill in a thick swath of oak and madrone, some possibly older than their entire party put together. 

Patrick and Christine set to covering both vehicles with the camouflage netting again, leaving the doors and rear hatches open for access beneath the draped obscurement. They didn’t need to look at the map to identify their target, as the sounds of voices and hand tools echoed faintly to their ears, and the pinpoints of light Rebecca had spotted grew brighter in the approaching evening.

Sam, Rebecca, and the two soldiers crept through thick underbrush to a post-and-board fence line and hunkered down. Rebecca lifted Felicia to her shoulder and panned her aim carefully between the boards, surveying the distant scene while the others passed a pair of binoculars back and forth.

Lights glowed inside two wooden farmhouses and a tall barn, and more were being lit on posts on the surrounding grounds. Rebecca was surprised to see a handful of spotted cows in a paddock off to the side, and several pigs beyond them. Her treasonous stomach betrayed her, sending her brain pangs of hunger at the idea of cheese, steak… maybe both on a nice fresh bread roll, and it took a generous amount of willpower to continue her survey.

Several vehicles were parked up near the farmhouses, some pulled into a shed at the far end of the property. People were moving about, she saw farmhands retreating from the fields in an organized fashion and guards near the front gates and house entrances. Maybe this was some kind of local cooperative, and the unsavories they ran out to on the road were a ruse to capture supplies from passers-by on the road.

No, wait. Some of those guards were looking inwards toward the fields. In fact, a lot of them were, once you factored in the ones by the houses. She zoomed the scope in to its maximum magnification and swept it over the workers exiting the fields… and realized they were in fact being quite organized in their movements, but not voluntarily.

"Shit, they’re prisoners," she whispered.  
Landry and Epstein were muttering to each other, passing the binoculars back and forth, so Sam tapped Rebecca on the shoulder and nodded at the rifle scope. Rebecca handed it over carefully and Sam took the scene in for herself. "That could have been us."

Rebecca squinted towards the scene, comparing the buildings for now since she’d lost her magnification. "Yeah. That was uncomfortably close in retrospect."

Epstein and Sam swore simultaneously.

Rebecca really wanted the rifle back now. "What?"

Sam passed it back over. "The guards just pistol whipped a guy and are dragging him away."

"Dammit." Rebecca panned around quickly and acquired the scene. "They’re going around the barn, we can’t see from here."

The party moved quickly along the brush line, keeping low and behind at least one layer of cover between them and the field, until they reached a position they could see past the barn. Rebecca was still getting positioned behind her rifle when Landry swore.

Again she asked, "What?" But, they didn’t need to answer, as he quickly handed the binoculars around and Rebecca already saw what bothered him through her scope.

"My god, those are fucking crucifixes." Not the classic Christian T shape, the more expedient beams crossed in an X. She watched in creeping discomfort as two armed men dragged a third to one of those structures and slammed him against it, punching him in the stomach, and callously pulling him upright when he doubled over from the blow. She couldn’t see the ropes clearly, but their movements told her they were lashing his arms and legs to the posts.

She heard Landry’s voice from her right. "Some of those people aren’t moving anymore."

A surge of sympathetic terror rose in Rebecca’s chest and she zoomed out slightly for a wider field of view. What she saw was as bad as the worst of the things Ronnie had warned her were happening in D.C. and New York. There were easily eight, ten of the terrible shapes, more than half occupied, and he was right. When he zoomed in, at least one body had a wrongness about it that sent chills up her spine. Something about the way the head lolled or the arms twisted as the torso sagged. Ugh.

That was pretty bad, but then she saw something that made her almost throw up, that turned her blood to ice in her veins. Breathlessly she stammered, "Th… that’s a child."

Epstein swore and Sam gasped, and both tried to fit behind the same pair of binoculars as they snatched it away from Landry. Rebecca wasn’t sure who won, but zoomed in on the smaller willowy figure bound to one of the center crucifixes. They sagged limply too, blonde hair obscuring their face, a dirty long-sleeve shirt and jeans becoming visible as those bastards out there lit a nearby brazier.  
Violence tugged at Rebecca’s heartstrings, and she barely realized the selector switch under her finger to move from Safe to Fire until she heard it click. Her forearm tensed, bracing the end of Felicia’s handguard against one of the fence rails, and she leaned her weight into her shoulder as the rest of the world fell away from focus. Those guys by the brazier, they’d make good illuminated targets. Then maybe the guys tying the other poor sap to the posts, they were occupied and pretty stationary. Then she could go for…  
Landry’s hand on her shoulder disrupted her focus, messed up her aim. "Not yet, sister. I’m sure you could get a couple of them from this range with body shots, but even with your reputation, I don’t think you can get them all before they get to cover or do some damage."

He was right, but she hated it, letting a seething sigh out through her nose because her lips were pressed too tightly in frustrated anger. "Tell me we’re gonna kill these fuckers."

Sam’s voice came from above Rebecca and to her right this time. "Oh yeah, that’s gonna be a thing."

Landry’s restraining hand lifted, but his tone was still precautionary. "Let’s be smart about it, get a count, then we can pull back and come up with a plan while we wait for darkness."

Sigh. At least Rebecca got to aim at everyone and think ahead to putting a round through each of them at half a mile per second. Two at the horrible crucifixes, three by the barn that they were marching people into, hopefully just as shitty lodging for the night. Two by the gate, but they seemed to be chaining it up and heading back towards the buildings. Two on the porch of one house, one on the other. Movement in the windows. It was gonna be a busy night.

Fine. She had lots of ammo.

**

"Don’t you think we’re in a little over our heads?" Chrissie looked at the faces of the others, huddled in a circle between the black SUVs in the light of a single flashlight on its lowest setting. "We should go get help, literally call the Marines."

"We’ve been in over our heads since that Thanksgiving," Rebecca said. "Also, we can’t be sure they can’t intercept our comms. Yeah, they’re not Black Tusk, but they obviously have surplus gear." She noted that Sam was uncharacteristically quiet as she continued. "Adults aside, there’s a fucking kid tied up to a cross out there. Can you live with yourself if we leave, and he or she is dead when we come back?" Rebecca didn’t want to voice the possibility they might be already.

Christine’s head bowed, and she answered without looking up. "No. Bastards…"

"I get it, Chrissie. I do. On the upside, they seem to have think we rabbited. They’re not looking for us, they’re being sloppy about security. They really do seem more worried about keeping people in than out. But, I do want us all to talk about this before we make a decision. Landry, Epstein? You’re our resident professionals."

Epstein glanced to Landry, who answered. "You both make valid points. But if you press me for an opinion… De oppresso liber, you know? This is literally that."

Rebecca pointedly waited for eye contact from Epstein, and he simply gave her a deferring shrug.

"Sam?"

"You could say I’ve got some anger issues to work out."

Rebecca figured Sam would likely lean whichever direction she did, but… oof.

Unsolvable worries about Sam aside, Patrick was probably the same way about Chrissie — he’d go wherever she went. She didn’t think Christine was afraid — just trying to be practical, keep them from going in half-cocked.  
This felt a lot like the time she and Ronnie went in after Patrick and Christine, actually. Whoever these yokels were, they weren’t going to be on par with Black Tusk. Sounds like the quantities might be about similar, and even though Ronnie wasn’t there, they’d all proven themselves in more than one fight.

And god, talking about numbers… they were just after the two "kids" the first time. By her estimate, there were at least twelve or fifteen captives on that farm from hell. She looked back at Chrissie, realizing the other woman had been watching her, reading her face.

"Chris?""I know that look, and I know those people need our help. What’s the plan?"

**

Epstein showed Patrick and Christine what fuse to reconnect to re-enable the headlights on the SUVs, just in case. Rebecca told them to stay with the vehicles, keep them secure, and if the rest of them got captured, to go get help. They didn’t like that plan much, but accepted they had the least combat experience, and that those roles needed covering.

Now Rebecca and Sam lay behind a small berm, lining the side of a field. They sheltered beneath a large tree while true darkness fell, Rebecca pivoting Felicia to examine points downrange."Barn door."She heard a click and a pen scratching. "Two-seventy."

"Big house, porch."  
"Three-ten."

"Front gate."

"Two-twenty. Hang on, movement, barn."

Rebecca snapped her aim to the front of the barn for the source of Sam’s warning. A woman was walking to the right, escorted loosely by one of the nondescript jackasses. So help her, if that went unpleasantly… she really didn’t want to kick things off before the boys were ready.

Several tense seconds of watching their movement passed, until she sighed with unburdening relief. The woman approached the restrained child and appeared to be spooning something into their mouth. She saw the hair shift repeatedly on its own and briefly lowered her eye away from the scope, taking a moment to square away her emotions.

Sam gave those thoughts voice beside her. "Oh thank god, they’re alive."

"Yeah." Rebecca’s grimness returned as the guard hauled the woman, probably the mother, away forcibly and dragged her by the arm back to the barn, which was shut and chained behind her. Then, he tromped off to the house.

"Back of his head’s two-forty-two, if you’re wondering."Rebecca chuckled. "Stop reading my mind, you tempting minx."

This went on for several more locations, Sam helping her range points of reference. Rebecca wouldn’t remember all the figures, but didn’t need them all to get a feel for the distances in front of her. Data points just helped her form better spatial awareness.

"Okay, thanks Rosie. That should be enough. The boys are probably getting close."

"'kay. Be careful.""You too." Rebecca heard Sam move off in the dark, knowing she was headed for another tree a good dozen yards to her right. Of course she wanted her nearby, but she also didn’t want stray rounds coming at one of them to have a chance to hit the other. God and anyone listening forbid. Maybe someone was, with the kid still moving and all.

She watched the darkness beyond the barn, thick in the trees, only barely pushed back by the lanterns and small bonfires lit by her foes. The guys would be skulking through there, Landry with her Tavor for its suppressor, Epstein backing him up with his M4 and an attached bayonet, both with night vision goggles.

One asshole disappeared from view on his loop around the back of the barn, and this time he didn’t come back a minute or so later. Rebecca knew it was game time.

She panned far left, aiming at the shadowy bulk of one of the Humvees, and squeezed her trigger once. She couldn’t hear it at this distance, but she was counting on the bullet making a satisfying cracking sound when it impacted one of the windows. Sweeping back, she checked on the guy sitting in a folding lawn chair by the barn door. Fucking idiot hadn’t even noticed. She swept left again and put two rounds out this time, then back to check.

Finally. He got up off his ass and meandered over to inspect the noise like the amateur bully he was. A professional wouldn’t have gone alone, or even fallen for the ol’ tossed pebble gambit. But he wasn’t a professional and wasn’t going to become one in the remaining seconds of his life. She panned with him, matching his pace. She could almost hear Ronnie’s voice in her head. Range two-fifty. Wind zero. Walking target, hold level, left one body width. Then… when he left the circle of light by the barn… and silhouetted himself in front of another distant brazier — Send it.

Felicia spat once, twice. He crumpled. Rebecca put one more round in the body on the ground for good measure, then swung to her next target. Two assholes, front gate, who she couldn’t drop first because the guy at the barn would see.

Steady, Bex. Range two-twenty. Wind three to five from the right. Box drill just like I taught you. Hold level, left one-half. Send when ready.  
One full respiration to get some oxygen in, then a controlled breath. One two, pivot, one two, back to first target. Confirmed down. Back to second target. Moving. Three. Not moving anymore.  
Half mag gone, not counting the one bonus round she’d started with in the chamber. Pan right towards the crucifixes, houses. No signs of alarm. There, one guy walking around the houses… never mind. She actually saw the cigarette-lighter-sized puff of flame from her Tavor that made him fall down and zoomed out to cover Epstein as he dragged the body into the darkness. Landry was inevitably doing the same, but she wanted to be sure. No drama. Zoom back in, hunt. No targets. Disappointment. Eagerness — time to move up.

Rebecca pulled the mag from her thigh pocket — easier to grab prone — and swapped it for the half empty one. Three more on her torso. She moved to a low crouch, glancing right to see Sam’s shadowy form rise a moment later. Rebecca moved in that direction, reaching out a hand to gently touch Sam’s shoulder, then continued up the berm. Down into a drainage or irrigation gully where it exited a culvert, then carefully because of the rougher ground.

The heavens were literally on their side that night. Enough light to see by once their eyes adjusted, but dark enough to skulk about, hidden from anyone standing near illumination. And their black armor… maybe they could have found something to darken their faces with, but something appealed about thinking of herself appearing as a floating spectral head, coming to bring the damned their due.  
The next part of the plan was… fluid, to put it politely. They weren’t sure whether it was better to leave the prisoners in the barn locked up — out of the way, but vulnerable to reprisal, and maybe hard to get back to — or get them out ASAP, into the woods, out of harm’s way. They’d agreed to play it by ear, see how things went.

That decision got made for them, though. It was inevitable someone would notice the dwindling population count at some point. It happened soon after she’d reached her second shooting position — past the livestock, a the corner of the shed a truck and open-topped Jeep were parked in, with Sam watching the other side.

A shift of light caught Rebecca’s eye, and she saw a man in dirty jeans and a flannel shirt under a puffy vest stepping down from the porch with a lantern. He looked around for a moment, holding the lantern up high in front of him, then aimed a flashlight into the dark and swept it around. Good thing Epstein stashed that body.

As her latest target lowered his hand with the flashlight in it, she realized it was attached to a pistol. Handy to know where he was aiming at all times, she supposed.

He stalked over to the crucifixes, kicking the foot of latest man to be added. She couldn’t make out his words, but the tone reached her — they were angry, interrogatory. His victim’s posture was weak, but defiant, head rising, tilting to one side. Probably telling the guy exactly where he could go shove his flashlight. That earned the prisoner a blow the head, pistol whipped, then again.

If he lifted that arm into firing position, Rebecca sweared he’d drop the guy right there. Instead, he turned back towards the wide open ground in front of the house, leading down past the barn towards the front gate. He’d only need to walk another fifty, sixty feet before he’d probably spot the first guy Rebecca had dropped.

Fine. If their presence was to be discovered, she might as well announce it with style.

At this range, inside 200 yards, she could put a round within a three inch circle of where she wanted to. Usually less. She waited for him to slow his pace… come on, buddy. Pause a while, look around into the darkness. Don’t you want to know what’s out there? It wants you to know it’s out there…

She got the opportunity she wanted. He slowed before he could see the body, because he saw the unoccupied lawn chair. She aimed, carefully…

… and put a round into the lantern, just below the painfully brilliant nucleus of light, around where she estimated the valve might be.

She’d recognized it wasn’t a propane lantern, the base was too squat. Combined with the brightness of the lit mantle that set it apart from a "plain old" kerosene lamp, that meant it was like her uncle’s old Coleman — fueled by "white gas", hand-pumped to be under pressure before you lit it, sustained after ignition by its own heat vaporizing fuel in the feed tube.

Rebecca was disappointed, the initial fireball blooming forth wasn’t as all-encompassing as she’d hoped for. Stupid Hollywood, skewing her expectations unrealistically. It only enveloped his arm for a split second as the lantern was knocked from his hand and fell to the ground. That, however… formed a nice puddle of fire as the depressurized fuel met the hot lamp elements.

She could improvise with that.

The man’s singed flailing terror provided her with ample opportunity to shoot him in the far leg somewhere around the knee, then twice in the vicinity of his shoulder as he fell, nudging his toppling arc right into the flames where he rolled about, screaming. She let him thrash for the span of two breaths before some shred of humanity pushed out from where it had been sequestered in back corners of her brain, and she euthanized him with a round through his head.

Hello, boys. Remember us?

**

"Jesus Christ."

Landry had been watching the tango with the lantern come down the steps too, sighted up in the Clinton girl’s fun little Israeli import. He figured she’d probably take the shot that dropped him and bided his time, just staying on target just in case.

For a split second he’d been confused over how she’d actually missed and hit the guy’s lantern instead, but when he saw the sequence of knee and torso shots, and the very intentional delay before she finished him off, there was no way he could convince himself it all hadn’t been for show.

Rebecca’s voice in his ear startled him, making him wonder for a panicked moment if he’d had his shit on voice activation. "Echo to Lima. Go for contingency, with caution. One and two on overwatch. Four, commence transmission if possible."

Well, tiptoeing was done. Landry glanced at Epstein and nodded towards the poor saps on the crosses. They were the most exposed and at highest risk, so just like this branch of the plan called for, Epstein started chucking smoke cans downrange for visual concealment.

Once that thickened up, they both advanced. Landry took cover behind one of the vacant crosses — too fucking few of those, these assholes — and watched for movement through the smoke. Epstein ran from cross to cross, heading for a couple of the more coherent prisoners they’d noted from the shadows. He probably scared the shit out of them, showing up out of the gloom wearing NVG’s like some bug-eyed cyborg. Landry could hear his confident tones as he reassured each in turn — "US Marines - we’re here to help" — over and over. 

Landry thought it was a little silly since Epstein was the only Marine he knew of within a good fifty miles, but explaining in detail wasn’t really expedient. He must have gotten a handful of people loose because he was ordering someone around now, telling them to help the weak, sending them to circle around the barn away from the dangerous open ground.

"Lima, contact left range twenty!" Rebecca’s bark over the radio sent his goggled eyes towards the back of the house, peering through the smoke. Once he knew where to concentrate, he could see the shapes that wouldn’t have caught his attention for another moment or two and opened fire. Even with the triple-stack 60 round Surefire mags he was getting to play with, he stuck to his training. Double-tap center mass on each then check to make sure he didn’t need more. Both were out of the fight, good enough.The crash of breaking glass led his attention back to the house, and he saw movement in a second floor window, above the thickest of the smoke. Two more double-taps in that direction to suppress. Epstein was ushering the last of the moving prisoners back, that poor kid slung over his left shoulder. Goddamned Marines, always making like the hero. 

Landry started to withdraw, one thick cross to the next, plotting his route to check the pulse on the two bodies Landry hadn’t cut down. Sure, Epstein probably had done the same, but he didn’t want to miss anyone. 

"We’ll come back for you brother," he promised the last, before he hauled ass around the back of the barn too.

Epstein was telling several shocked but excited grubby-looking civilians to stay down, handing the kid over to one of the more coherent. Landry skidded to a knee near him, looking back the way he came. "Good?"  
Epstein turned and jostled his M4 back up into ready position. "Good. Door?"

"A-firm."

Both men readied up, moving around far side of the barn from the house towards the front corner. Landry switched to VOX as he moved. "Echo, Lima. Alphas cleared to bravo 'black side'. Approaching bravo white. Request cover."

"Echo still has solid overwatch, Lima. Execute. Three, four, have transport ready for civ evac if needed." Suppressor or not, he could still hear the snapping sounds of Rebecca’s hypersonic projectiles around the corner, punctuating her message. Seemed like things were still pretty under control with only her firing, Conroy, the feisty tech, hadn’t gone loud yet. No reason to reveal their position, right?

Elroy, the lucky guy riding around with the three killer cuties all this time, answered back diligently. "Three copies." These kids were pretty on top of it, Gunny hadn’t been kidding.

Not that it was surprising, given they were her personal proteges.  
The smoke by the crucifixes was drifting — a minor help, since it was starting to spread across the wide open kill zone in front of the house — but it was thinning, so Landry popped two of his own smokes.

After some rustling, Epstein sidled up on his flank again, stacked up on the wall behind him. "Cutters ready."

"Copy. Echo, moving!"  
The kids didn’t answer, but he heard several more angry snaps off to the southeast and flowed around the corner, gun up and switched to full auto. Be nice if they had a ballistic shield for this bit. Or a tank. But Epstein worked fast, clipping the padlock off the barn and shoving the swinging door closest to the house wide open. Convenient that whoever built this went for simple hinged doors, not more elegant tracked sliders.

The door made for decent cover once they had it open, and again Epstein started his mantra, liberating the desperate souls to their inconveniently clamorous excitement.

Clinton’s staccato sniping suddenly picked up the pace, volleys of two, three at once, much closer together. She came on the radio just as Conroy’s M4 cracked repeatedly too. "Getting a little hot, Lima. Hostiles in windows of both houses. Three, maybe four automatics in Charlie, five in Delta. One rifle in Charlie, two in Delta."

Civilians were filing out of the barn, sticking close to the wall and heading around back to join the others. Landry heard an odd clanking and spared a glance to see Epstein jogging towards him from the depths of the barn lugging a big silver fire extinguisher that might have been older than he is. Landry tried his best to cover him while the kid ran to two braziers on their side of the smoke — keeping them between him and the houses, smart — and doused each of them. A large oil lamp on a fencepost across the way, well, he borrowed a move from their vengeful guardian angel — ducked back in to the barn after he’d dropped the extinguisher and put a couple rounds into it through the doorway.

That left only a few pinpricks of light in the outer reaches of the property, most of the surviving lights were near, on, or in the houses.

"Good thinking, kid. Everyone out?"

"Just checked, we’re clear."

"Outstand… fuck!"

Three Molotovs burst out in the smoke, and a volley of massed blindfire chewed at the door as the two of them ducked back inside. Landry’s eyes widened when he heard the distinctive "bloop" of a grenade launcher, but was relieved when the "only" thing that landed nearby was a couple of teargas grenades.  
Sure, he and Epstein had to deal with it back at Boot, it was still gonna make things unpleasant around there.

Clinton clearly disapproved. "Lima, confirm house occupants with friendlies?"

Epstein and Landry looked at each others’ pale two-dimensional images in their goggles, trying to figure out how to accomplish that. Landry nodded towards the back of the barn. "Through the wall!"

The kid figured out he meant pretty fast and ran to the back wall and started yelling through it. Landry heard a woman’s voice reply after his third try, and then Epstein came on the radio. "Charlie has noncombatants inside. Delta should only be hostiles."

Rebecca’s voice was more strident. "Should? Confirm!"

Landry heard Epstein yelling again, then he was back on the radio. "Confirmed! Tango billeting only. Charlie has… house staff and hostages n’ shit."

"Thank you, Lima. Echo three and four, put a missile into Delta. Say again, Delta, Delta."

Landry lifted his eyebrows behind his goggles. They’d brought a single AT4 disposable anti-tank rocket with them, at the Gunny’s insistence in case they ran into Black Tusk, and Clinton had similarly insisted a demonstration on its deployment for all of them. The assholes in the house on the right didn’t know what they were in for. But he was okay with a force overmatch, given that he was currently being shot at.  
The seconds stretched out as gunfire chattered and popped, enough that she called out on the radio again. "Three and four, status?"

The blonde answered. Good thing for her they had the low back blast model, with that long hair… "Here it comes!"

Landry heard the distant sharp thump and watched a bright dot streak from the woods, across the farm fields in a slight arc… had they compensated for the range correctly? Pro shooters could skip the rounds off the ground, but — well, okay. They did range it.

A millisecond’s flash and a loud bang blew out a good third of the two story farmhouse’s front wall, and probably a bunch of the sides too. Debris clattered down across the open ground for several seconds, and even more smoke wafted into the hovering cloud. Fuckin’ A. Between torching that poor asshole and the way she knocks on a door, that girl knows how to make a point.

As the hillside echo faded and hostiles in the main house were still too stunned to make more noise, he heard Clinton’s voice yelling at the top of her lungs from the darkness. "Any further hostility will be met with the same response! Stand down!"

There was no signal of surrender from the larger residence, but nobody pulled a trigger, either. An eerie silence settled, and once Landry hustled out of the barn and behind it to safety with Epstein, he spotted some of the more able bodied civilians straggling out of the woods, collecting weapons from the downed guards out at the gate, the first jackass Clinton dropped, and the one they’d ninja’d behind the barn. He managed to wave most of them back, but the ones who’d found weapons clustered loosely between him and the woods, like they were waiting for an opportunity for payback.

Clinton’s voice was calmer, cooler in his ear this time. "Lima. Survivors exiting Delta. Order them down the road to you and apprehend them. I don’t want to further risk revealing my position."

Well, this just got more complicated. He’d thought he was done being stuck between two groups of people who really wanted to kill each other years ago.

**

Rebecca and Sam had doubled back down the edge of the field, then traversed the entire perimeter to come up on the opposite side of the farm through the woods behind the barn. As they ducked through the rail fence just past the gate and started walking uphill in the barn’s "shadow", she didn’t want to startle the guys, so…

"Lima, Echo. We’re coming up on your six, don’t be alarmed."

She saw a shadowy shape turn in their direction, move their hand slightly, then go back to watching the house from behind the extended barn door. They seem to be supervising some of the recently liberated prisoners as they worked to drag tables from inside the barn and stack them in a growing barricade protruding like an extension of the door. 

When she got closer, Landry turned again. "Hey boss. Epstein’s around the corner with a couple volunteers, making sure they don’t try to sneak down the side. You know, like we did."

He could probably see her grin slightly, night vision and all. "Good work getting them all out. How’s the kid?"

"Sounds like he’ll be okay. They’ve got him wrapped up in a blanket inside, he’d been out there since yesterday. Mom gave him a little brother and I think he conked out."

"Fuckers." Rebecca heard Sam swear in the background too. "Anyone badly hurt?"

"Minor injuries, exposure, some dehydration. Probably long term malnutrition but I’m no medic, I’m just assuming. Seems these assholes tried to maintain their workforce."How nice of them."

"Excuse me?" A woman’s voice from inside the barn attracted Rebecca’s attention, and she squinted to see where it was coming from in the dim light of the few candles Landry was letting them use. "Over here…"

Rebecca nodded to Landry, who returned it and went back to watching the house, and walked into the barn to follow the voice. She heard Sam mutter something encouraging to Landry and enter behind her too.

Eventually she found a woman, maybe late 30’s. She couldn’t see her features well in the light, but she had long hair and was around Rebecca’s height. She stank a little of sweat and toil, but Rebecca blamed her captors for that. "Hi. Are you okay?"

"Oh god, we are now. Thank you. It sounds like you’re in charge?"

It kinda did, didn’t it. "Sorta. What happened here?"

The woman pulled the blanket tighter around the boy she rocked in her lap as she sat on a bench. "Pretty much what it looks like. A bunch of monsters living off our backs, trying to tell us we should be 'grateful' for their 'protection'."

Rebecca shook her head in disgust. "I’m finding myself glad they got our attention."

"Oh… I was about to ask how you found us. Did they try their bull—" the woman glanced down at the child. "Their scheme with the checkpoint on you? I guess they couldn’t fool the real thing, thank god."

Rebecca didn’t want to get into whether or not she was 'the real thing' and let it slide. "Is he going to be okay? Why did those… Ahem. Why did those monsters have him out there?"

"Usually they use those for… discipline, or motivation. Sometimes they don’t put the troublemakers on them, but their family instead. More effective, you know. But Jack here… he’s my little hero. One of them shoved me and I fell — not working hard enough, of course. But when they were standing over me, he came running in between and started pounding his fists against them, yelling at them not to touch his mom." 

Rebecca couldn’t see the woman’s face well now that her own shadow was blocking the candlelight, but could hear her sniffle as she wiped her eyes.

"So of course one of them grabs him by the arm and hauls him off to the crosses, and the other just kicks me, tells me that maybe if I work harder, they’ll let him down."

Rebecca pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed, bending her head down. "Goddammit." Then, she knelt and gently lay a hand on the blanket over the kid’s back. "I don’t know if you can hear me little guy, but you’re safe now. Nobody’s gonna hurt you or your mama. You can rest for now. You’re gonna be okay."

**

Sam wasn’t going to lie to herself about getting to shoot at some right bastards feeling good. After the day she had, she figured it was a fair enough reaction. Now, hearing this woman’s story, it made her want to go back out there and do it some more. It really would be nice to have that Black Tusk quad mech here with its cannon. Let’s see how these assholes fare against that thing piloted by someone from the team that took second place in the 2014 combat robotics regionals. The way that mom was describing her son standing in front of her…

Mike had left for college a couple of years before. He’d came home for the summers, walk her through one or two of his class projects from the year before, let her "drive him around" to the store or mall so she could get some wheel time in. During the school year, it was quieter without him in the room right next to hers… usually.

Once, maybe twice a month, Mom and Dad would get into it about something. Money, taxes, insurance, usually stupid grownup crap like that. Sometimes Mom would lose a bill and not pay it, or Dad would blow too much money on the weekend with his buddies. Usually they’d just end up in different rooms sulking about it until they cooled off and she could just stay out of it.  
Late spring, when she was sixteen, she came home from school in a mediocre mood. She’d gotten the grade back on a chemistry test, that went pretty well. The math quiz she suffered through that day though, the teacher was just horrible at explaining things, and she dreaded the results coming on Friday. Lunch had been cool, and hey, no P.E. that day, so that was a win.

They were sniping at each other in the kitchen when she got home. Maybe if they’d just take a break and both eat a cookie they could have the conversation like "adults". She went upstairs, tossed her backpack on the bed and kicked her shoes off, glad to be rid of both for the day.

Still, she was hungry herself, and after dawdling twenty minutes to see if they’d STFU, she sighed and went downstairs. She figured she’d just walk in with her headphones in, mumble something snarky about being hungry, and raid the fridge and pantry. Hopping downstairs on every-other step in her socked feet made her pretty quiet, or they were pretty caught up in there little squabble, because they didn’t hear her coming.

As she padded through the dining room, rolling her eyes, she heard a chair from the breakfast table skitter across the floor and slam into the wall, followed by another chair scraping back, and saw her mom back into view. Something about the startled look on her face, or the worried look when she spotted Samantha in her peripheral vision and glanced over, then back into the kitchen at Dad, set Sam off.

She charged hard off the carpet, getting good traction with her socks there, but not on the vinyl tiles where she slid a few unexpected inches and slammed her hip into the table. Maybe the pain added to things, but she faced off with her dad, a few inches taller and a good forty pounds heavier, and rammed both of her fists into his chest and shoved him back several inches.

"Don’t you fucking touch her, Dad!"

Now she was between the two of them, Mom trying to get her to calm down, Dad getting defensive about how Sam was being absurd and he’d never. But she wouldn’t back down from either of them.

Eventually Sam literally ordered her mother to "go to her room" and defiantly held the space between them until she’d left. At that point, Sam shouldered her way past her father to the fridge, grabbed the half-gallon jug of orange juice and entire pack of string cheese, and taken both back to her room. She pointedly left the door open with her chair in-line with the hallway, chomping moodily away on cheese sticks while she read her Lit and History homework, foot up on a bookshelf and blatantly facing the door. Eventually Dad turned off the TV downstairs, glanced sheepishly at Sam as he crossed the landing, and started mumbling things in calmer tones at the doorway to their bedroom. Maybe that was why Mike played his music and games so loud sometimes.

Fucking hell, this day had to fuck right off, and they still had several hours to go until midnight.

**  
As Rebecca rose with a groan, Jack’s mom grasped for her hand. "Thank you, again, really."

She tried to smile as best she could. "What’s your name?""Sorry… manners. Dylan. The ones you’ve captured or… killed. Was there a woman among them?"

"Not that I saw, but I’ll check. Why?""She’s the one in charge. The others follow her, but this is all her doing. She’s probably up in the big house. She goes by Mags."

Rebecca’s eyes narrowed a millimeter or two. "I see."

"Goddammit," Landry’s voice boomed from outside, "put it down!" 

That snapped Rebecca’s gaze up and she dashed to the doors with Sam, guns coming up.

Landry’s weapon was at his side, but his finger was pointing imperiously into the face of one of their rescues. Late 30’s or early 40’s man, dingy and scruffy just like everyone else. He was clutching an AK-style rifle and trying to get around Landry, but the burly man kept stepping in front of him.

"Why should I? They deserve it! You killed plenty of them! Why are you defending them now?"

A row of men in a mix of outdoorsy and paramilitary clothing knelt near the barricades, facing the house. It looked like Landry had used his fistful of zip ties on the first several, and remaining were bound with lengths of rope cut from a coil found inside the barn.

Rebecca stormed up to Landry’s side, slinging Felicia behind her as she went and grabbed the barrel of the man’s gun, forcing it farther down and to the side, and shoved the safety lever down with her other hand. Right up in his face, she snarled at him through clenched teeth. "Because, you idiot, there are more people like you up in that house. Maybe you don’t know any of them, but if you shoot one of these assholes, just like all the rest of us would very much like to, who’s to say what they’re going to do inside? Let go of the gun before we take it from you too. Now!"

He glared at her for a second, but she had plenty of practice not blinking as she looked through a scope and just gave him a cool stare. Grumbling, he released the gun, suddenly heavy in her awkward grip near the muzzle. Landry reached around her and grabbed it nearer the center of gravity and she let go gratefully.

"Thank you. Now go bandage somebody’s fucking wound or help distribute some food and water or some shit." As the man stalked off around the corner as ordered, Rebecca glanced at her hands to make sure they were clean enough and then rubbed her eyes. God, she just wanted to be curled up with her back against her uncle’s wood stove right now with Sam at her side, explaining to her mom how they found her. Instead she had to deal with all this shit. She glanced at Sam again, but was disappointed, she couldn’t see anything of her expression in shadowy night.

Fine, let’s get this show fucking moving. She reached for her radio. "Echo. Bring the cars up, stop outside the gate." She half-listen to Chrissie’s acknowledgement while she looked for someone competent and steady looking. Two guys were standing together like they knew each other, one holding an AR-15 pattern rifle similar to an M4. "You two. Can I trust you to keep your eyes open and your shit together?"  
They glanced at each other and nodded. "Great. Go around the other side of the barn, find the Marine who helped save you, and send him over here. Take his place and keep an eye out for any movement out of the side of the house or through the fucking crucifixes. Clear?"

The unarmed one nodded and the guy with the gun replied. "Yes ma’am."

She’d settle for it. "Good, go."

The wait gave her time to consider Ronnie’s lesson in the sewers months back. About taking into account how the other side would treat their captives. If she could see her now. "Hey, Landry. Good job keeping him from screwing things up more."

"Seemed like it would only go downhill from there."

"Amen. Oh, good. Lance, nice work so far. Those trucks downhill towards the gate, and the Humvee. I presume you can hotwire them if there’s no keys?"

Epstein probably gave her a mildly offended look, based on the head tilt behind the night vision headset. "Cake walk."  
"Cool. One sec, I’ve got an idea." She turned around to address the row of slavers-turned-prisoners. "Hey assholes. Any of you with a key to one of those cars who coughs it up right now gets a chair to sit in and medical care for your injuries."

One guy who was balding to begin with and seemed to have lost more hair in the explosion squirmed and tried to look her way. "I got keys for the Ford in my right pocket!"

Rebecca pointed at two more of the liberated civilians. "Get him up. Landry, cover these shitheads, if anyone does something stupid, kick their ass and then let that other dipshit come back and shoot them."

She looked back to Epstein. "There, saved you a little work. Bring them all up here, point them at the house, and turn the high beams on. I want them lit up and blinded." Here’s hoping at least one of the trucks was seriously rednecked out and would have those extra lights behind the cab.

The wait for her latest orders to be completed… because yeah, now she really was issuing orders… gave her a little time to check in on Sam. "Hey, how’re you doing?"

That got her a shrug. "Holding up. You’re doing good."

Rebecca reached for Sam’s forearm. "Thanks for having my back like you always do." She hoped she didn’t just imagine Sam’s smile.

**

Rebecca stalked back and forth behind the line of kneeling prisoners. A truck and the two Humvees were parked at the end of the row of barricades now, headlights blazing away at the house. She was good for her word, the guy who’d given up the keys was sitting in the lawn chair the barn guard had originally lounged in, two freed civilians watching over him with pointy hand tools.

There was occasional movement at the windows, a twitch of drapes or a brief shadow, but nobody took any potshots at the sources of illumination. She’d been hoping to find a bargaining chip in their batch of captives — Mags’ nephew or whatever, someone she’d care about. Unfortunately, it seemed she’d depleted her good fortune with the truck keys. A bit of a waste. Fine.

She stopped her hungry pacing somewhere near the middle of the line, but close to solid cover of the table barricades, and got a good lungful of air.

"Mags! I know you’re in there and that this is your shitshow. So let’s talk already!"

A gravelly woman’s voice echoed back at her from the house after several moments.

"My shitshow? Who’s the one lighting people on fire and blowing up buildings?"

Rebecca couldn’t tell which opening it was coming from, alas. Even if she could, she didn’t have Felicia at the ready. An oversight on her part. "That’d be me. I think we both know the only thing keeping me from doing it again is the hostages you’ve got in there."

The disembodied voice from the creepy rural farmhouse cackled. That was unsettling. "You, little girl? You think you can come in here and destroy what I’ve built? What I carved back from the end of civilization?"

"You certainly aren’t doing anything to restore that precious civilization, Mags. Children, tied to crosses? If that’s civilization, I’m happy to burn it down again."

"You hypocritical child. I did what needed to be done. Nobody can survive this on their own, someone has to make the hard calls and make people work towards a common goal."

Rebecca shook her head. Classic megalomaniacal rationalizing. She pondered that old "make the bird want to sing" proverb she’d discussed with Ronnie a few times. This lady was definitely of the "if the bird doesn’t want to sing, kill it" variety. "Funny, Mags. Where I come from, we’re doing just fine without holding a gun to each other’s heads."

"Funny yourself, girl. You with a line of line of prisoners out there. I don’t think you even know what to do with 'em."

Everyone flinched at the muffled report of a gunshot, and a body crashed out through the a second floor window, falling to the ground below with a thump. Someone in the woods screamed.  
"I’ve got more of those, girl. I don’t think you’re taking me seriously."

Rebecca was torn between shock and rage. Movement to her left caught her eye and she looked towards the barn, seeing Sam coming her way. Rebecca took a half step back from the barricades, thinking Sam was coming to comfort or counsel her…

… but Sam walked right by, maybe not seeing when Rebecca raised her hand a few inches towards her. Rebecca watched in puzzlement and then genuine shock as Sam stopped behind the second guy from the end and just stone cold shot him in the back of the head. Amongst her jumbled thoughts as the M4’s loud crack echoed and the corpse flopped forward, she realized Sam’s movements were oddly specific. At no point did she look like she was picking and choosing.

Lowering her gun, Sam glared at the house while Rebecca still watched her, stunned. "That’s what happens to people who crucify kids, bitch! Sic semper tyrannis. You really want to keep throwing away your lifelines, see what happens! Don’t test us when it comes to 'doing what needs to be done', you cunt."Rebecca realized she’d seen Sam talking to Dylan in the barn while they were waiting for Epstein to bring up the trucks. She hadn’t thought about it much at the time, beyond the idea that comforting the little guy and his mom, seeing firsthand that they’d helped these people, might do her some good. Now she realized Sam must have inquired about who amongst the remaining goons was involved in the incident with Jack. Sure, she was upset about it too, but just… executing the guy like that was thoroughly uncharacteristic for Sam.

Rebecca was starting to deeply regret putting Sam through this right after learning of her mom’s death, and the ensuing scene with her father. But… what else were they supposed to do? She couldn’t help but feel a worried chill gnawing at the edges of her consciousness, but the only way out was forward.

She might as well run with the tone Sam had just set. "Mags, I don’t know any of the people in there. Your dumbshit boys simply tried their tricks on the wrong crew today. At some point, I’m going to get bored out here and cut our losses, nuke that building, and just get back on the road to where we were trying to go in the first place. The rest of those hostages are the only thing keeping me from turning you into a fine red mist right now. You think on that."

"You’re a couple of crazy bitches, you know that? I can almost respect you. Fine. You’ve established it’s not in my interest to kill anyone else, but I sincerely doubt you’re about to let me and mine just walk away. I guess we got ourselves an impasse."

Yeah, you just think that, bitch.

**

Rebecca was waiting for Dylan and a couple of other unwilling residents to sketch out floorpans of the surviving farmhouse, and beckoned Sam over to a quiet corner. "Hey, I know it’s been a brutal day for you. I just wanted to say I’m sorry for dragging you into this… I didn’t know what alternative we had."

Sam nodded quietly. "I know, sugar. I don’t know that there really was one.""I’m worried about you, Rosie."

Sam lifted an eyebrow. "Are you going to lecture me about putting a bullet in that asshole’s head out there?"

"Not much where Dylan can hear me. It was really risky, they might have escalated, but it worked out and the last thing you need right now is me harping on you. Odds are he deserved it anyway."  
"I was gonna say… after your light show. But, we gotta get through this and get it done, right? There’ll be time to sort things out after. Everything that’s happened already isn’t going to change.""Assuming there isn’t something else, and then something else, and then something else." Rebecca sighed. She held out a hand where Sam couldn’t miss it and waited for her to take it, then ran her thumb back and forth over Sam’s gloved knuckles. "I’m here, okay?"

Sam squeezed her hand for a moment before releasing it. "I know. We take care of each other."

Rebecca nodded. "Right." She wished she could think of more to say, some balm for Sam’s raw wounds that would numb them for the night. She was at a loss.

It didn’t matter much right then anyway, because Dylan waved her over. "We’re done." When Rebecca approached, she continued. "Hope it helps."

"Oh, it will, we’ve been blind about what’s inside until now. How many good guys and bad guys do you think there are?"

"They make the ones who are too weak for the hard labor cook and clean in the house, etcetera. We did a head count, and there should be four of us inside. Them… it’s hard to say, I don’t know how many were in the other house."

"We had… seven guys shooting at us from that one. Four or five from the house that’s still a house. Four… well, three survivors from the first house. Six that we dropped outside before things got messy."

"There were twenty two of them total, counting Mags."  
"So anywhere between four and nine bad guys left in that house. Ugh. Thank you." Rebecca shook her head, there was too much ambiguity, and she didn’t like the worst-case odds. She picked up the maps they’d sketched out and took them out front to where Landry and Epstein were keeping an eye on things. Christine and Patrick were coming up the hill from where they’d parked the SUV’s by the gate. "Hey Chrissie, nice shooting. That’s the second time you’ve gotten to blow something up.""Yeah, I promised Patrick that he gets to next time. Though I would really, really appreciate it if we could limit the number of next times, please!"

Rebecca nodded. "Fair. For now I’m just trying to figure out how to get to the point where we worry about the next one."

"Well," Sam said. "What would Ronnie and/or Sun Tzu do?"

"I’ll let you know when I think of the right quote, but for now, I figure she’d start by listing our assets or advantages. Skipping over us personally and just talking about gear, I can think of the night vision, the lightning hamster ball, flex camera, flashbangs, a bunch of ammunition, a sniper rifle, and an assault rifle with really big mags. Were you guys able to get a transmission out?""We didn’t hear any replies. I sent a summary just in case they could pick it up, but… " Patrick shrugged.

Chrissie sighed next to him. "And we can’t exactly leave and come back, best case they get away, worst case they retaliate against all these folks."

Rebecca glanced at the crosses beyond the barricades. "Yeah, they don’t seem the type to live and let live. Guys, here, take a look at these maps and see if you get any ideas."

Landry took the maps she held out, not even needing to tilt them towards the cars for light with those goggles Rebecca wished they had more of. "You mean beyond Mr. Monkeywrench’s idea of trying to take an armored door off our transpo and making me carry it like a shield? Yeah, okay."

Leaning over his shoulder, Epstein shook his head. "Wish it was a single floor. We could figure out a way to storm one all at once, simple breach-bang-n-clear. But as soon as we do that, the folks upstairs know we’re coming."

Rebecca sighed, starting to feel like she’d really gotten them in over their head. She couldn’t just abandon these people to their fate, but couldn’t see a good path forward.

Sam bumped into her intentionally and gave Rebecca a little encouraging smile. That was good to see at least, a couple of different ways.

"Hey, Rosie. The lightning ball… you don’t have any idea if it’s lethal or not, huh?"

Sam shook her head. "Hard to say. A lot of it would depend on the person too, like, do they have a heart problem, how close are they, are they between it and a ground path. Pretty sure it would leave severe burns at the very least."

"Damn. Remember what Amira said, about the places by the airport making ramps and shields? That kinda shit sure would be useful right now."

Epstein stepped over. "Sorry to interrupt. Landry and I were talking, and we may just have to do it the hard way. It’s not much different than some of house searches we had to do overseas. He and I can take the front, a couple of you stacked up behind us. Turn the headlights off right before we go in, use lots of flashbangs, watch our corners, move hard and fast. We’ve got a decent shot."  
Rebecca’s lips tightened. "I don’t like your choice of words there."

"Hey, at some point, putting ourselves in danger to protect people is what we signed up for."

"Fuck that, Lance. I know the oath is still important, but I’m damned well not ready to send people into the grinder. I’m not Ronnie."

"You think she ever wanted to?"  
"No, dammit, that’s not what I mean." If this day could stop giving her reasons to sigh, that’d be great. "If we do it the hard way, how do we deal with the top floor?"

"Depends on if we’re actively forcing them up the stairs. Say we manage to take everyone downstairs out cleanly." Epstein held up one of the maps so she could see it backlit by the headlights’ scattered reflected light. "The stairs in the middle go up to a landing, that splits left and right towards bedrooms with a bathroom in front."

"And doors on each, which’ll probably be closed, and nothing says they won’t shoot through the walls as soon as the doorknob turns. No, we’re not doing that."

"If they knew we were there. Maybe the flex camera and the taser sphere’s or something. Or turn the lights on the trucks on right before we get up there, then off again. Give us a little time to get a flashbang in. The night vision will give us a big advantage too."

Rebecca shook her head. "So many fucking 'if’s. We need to cut down on some." She resumed her pacing, keeping an eye on the house. The clouds from the smoke grenades had mostly dissipated, but enough remained to drift lazily. The old, dirty light-colored paint on the house was even more washed out in the headlights, stark contrast against its own shadow beyond it, cast long by the angle of illumination. Speaking of things that looked like spooky skulls in the dark.

She almost walked into Sam as she turned for her third pass. "Oh! Hi Rosie."

"Hey, you. So what would Sun Tzu say about cornered enemies?"

"To not corner 'em.""Whoops."  
"Yeah. And not to press a desperate foe."

"So, like… somehow make them less desperate, less cornered?"

"I guess. Build them a 'golden bridge to retreat across'. But I’m not letting Mags go."

"Fuck no. But, we’re looking at a pretty impossible situation, right? We can’t have everything we want, so what are our priorities? Save the hostages, stay alive, kill or capture Mags, in that order, right?"Rebecca glared at the house contemplatively, then looked back at Sam again. Her features were still dim in the shadows behind the barricade, lit only by reflected light, mostly off the house itself. Weirdly poetic in a way. "Yeah. Maybe let the folks here deal with Mags, and the worst of her cronies."

"The boys said if it was only a single floor to storm, it’d be better, right? Maybe we can get the assholes on the ground floor to surrender somehow, or lure them out and jump them in the dark."

Rebecca folded her arms, Felicia still hanging from a shoulder sling. She glanced at the prisoners they already had, which was an open question all on its own. "Let’s go talk to Dylan, since she’s the one we’ve had the most face time with."

**

"You didn’t actually mean that, did you? About just giving up on the people inside?"

Rebecca took a knee next to where Dylan sat inside the barn. "No, not ever. But just from seeing what she’s done here, and hearing a little of her talking, Mags would take advantage of the least bit of weakness we show."

"Is that why you shot the bastard that tied up Jack?"

Rebecca glanced up at Sam where she stood beside her. "That was… spur of the moment. Seems to have gotten across that we’re not playing either, though. She doesn’t seem the type to particularly care about her people, so I doubt it’s out of concern on her part."  
Dylan made a sour face. "That bitch doesn’t have an ounce of concern in her body."

Sam tapped Rebecca’s shoulder. "Maybe we can use that."

"Good point. Dylan, would I be right in guessing she didn’t inspire much loyalty?"  
The tired woman glanced past Rebecca to the cot her son was sleeping on. "Again, not an ounce. Outside her little inner circle anyway."

"How many would you say that included?"

"That shitstain you left burning in the road was one of her main enforcers. Two or three others."Rebecca turned slightly, looking at Jack’s huddled form under the blankets. "Were the rest as bad as the one who took your son?"

"Some. Most were just freeloading scum who did what they were told because it put food in their bellies they didn’t have to work for. Why?"

"We’re trying to figure out how to save the rest of you, and get to Mags. How unhappy do you think everyone is going to be if some the assholes get away?"

Dylan scoffed. "Lady, you pretty much freed us from the yoke of slavery. Yeah, I want Mag’s head on a fucking pole. But as long as we’re alive and free when the sun comes up, everything else is just gravy."

Sam settled at the far end of the bench Dylan was on, so she was to Rebecca’s right. "What’re you thinking, sugar?"

Glancing at her, Rebecca shrugged. "Trojan horses have worked for me pretty well in the past. We’re two for two, if you think about it. Eventually my luck has to run out but, go with what you know?" She looked back to Dylan. "That guy I pulled off the line of prisoners, sitting in the chair outside. What category would you say he was in?"

Dylan’s eyes flickered to the door and back to Rebecca. "Useless turd, would do anything to save his own ass, but didn’t go out to this way to make us miserable."

Rebecca rubbed her chin thoughtfully and glanced at Sam. Maybe they could work with that. "What’s his name?"

**

Rebecca took a minute before leaving the barn to make sure all her gear was in order, dusting off her armor and plucking a few burrs from her carry pouches, left over from the fields outside. She wanted to look as much the stone-cold killer part as she could manage for this next bit. With an apprehensive look at Sam and a slow breath to focus her nerves, she stepped on stage.

"So, Travis." The balding man in the chair looked up in surprise at the use of his name, and his eyes widened slightly as she neared.

"Y-yeah? What do you need?"

Rebecca held up a hand thoughtfully. "Let’s start with you. How’s the whole not kneeling for the last hour thing working out?"

"Uh, pretty good, I guess. My knees ain’t what they used to be."

"Yeah, I thought it looked more comfortable. And the not getting shot part?"  
His eyes managed to get wider. "Uh, w-what? I guess I’m pretty keen on that too." He gulped and glanced at where nobody had bothered to move the body of Sam’s execution victim.

It bothered Rebecca to think of it that way, but… focusing for now.

She nodded, squatting several feet away, eyes narrowing. "So I have your attention then, good. You saw my friend do that with your own eyes. The little barbecue up the road? That was me. You weren’t at the bullshit checkpoint today, where you?""No, never. I’m always just around here, just… making sure nobody makes a run for it I guess. Sometimes even fixing the fences and stuff myself. Not kidnapping anyone or tying anyone to crosses, nothing like that.""Oh yeah, sure, you were just following orders. That didn’t hold up for the guys at Nuremberg either, Travis. But you might have heard some stories tonight, right? One of those trucks didn’t come back. Then we show up. You see the connection? You see the kind of gear we’re wearing? The gentlemen over there with the night vision, the professional uniforms. The rocket we blew the shit out of the house you were hiding in with."

Travis was wringing his hands were they were tied in together in front of him. "Uh-huh. Who are you, anyway?"

"That’s not what’s important here, Travis." Rebecca snapped her fingers at him. "Focus."

"Okay, sorry.""Good job, Travis. So I think it’s well established that if you do what I ask, I’ll follow through with what I promised, right? You gave me keys, you got to sit over here, get a few bandages and some water, not get shot. And, if you fuck with us, it ends poorly, swiftly. With me so far?""Right there with you. Do what the fuck you tell me and I keep breathing."Rebecca smiled. "You are a quick study, Travis. A-plus. Very good. If I were to tell you to do something for me, and promise I’d let you go afterwards, would you be interested? Even if it meant going against Mags? Or would you try to screw me over, stick with her, hope you didn’t get fucked up along with her?"

"I may not be a model citizen, but I’m no idiot. I know Mags and her little empire are done. You want me to do something and tell me I can leg it scot-free afterwards, not be stuck between you and her? You just tell me what you want."

Rebecca grinned.

**

Sam crept along beside her in the woods, Epstein and Landry leading the way with their night vision, Travis several yards ahead of them. Rebecca had her Tavor back, having left Felicia with Patrick. Landry now carried Christine’s shotgun for close range impact, while Sam bore Patrick/Rebecca’s hand-me-down M4 since hers didn’t have a light attached. Her SMG’s laser gave up that option to fit the target painting beam, so Epstein carried that instead for its suppressor.

Rebecca glanced at the house when she could, eyes keen for any movement, but they’d been blessed with no trouble so far. Maybe this would all…

Dammit. Behind them, the guy with the AR-15 she’d sent to watch the back corner of the barn snapped a twig underfoot. She hissed angrily over her shoulder, glaring at his shadowy outline, which shrank noticeably in apology. After a few seconds, everyone unfroze and started forward again.

Once they’d widely circled the house at a painfully slow pace, they scattered behind solid-looking trees and Rebecca heard Epstein order Travis forward. She chewed her lip nervously as he skulked forward towards a back door to the house, calling out in a loud whisper when he was almost there."Hey, it’s Travis, don’t fucking shoot me!"

A disembodied voice from the guts of the creepy-ass house in the woods reached her ears, words indistinct, and the door opened a few inches. Travis scampered forwards, up a couple of steps, and inside.Now, they wait, while she tries not to lose her shit. Hopefully, he was telling a tale of how he’d almost escaped, but the crazy bitch caught him, laughed at him… told him he and his friends could get the fuck out if they left quietly, let any hostages on the ground floor go, didn’t tell Mags. How this was the only way the house wasn’t getting blown to bits if their multiple snipers in the woods didn’t see them leaving inside ten minutes.

Come on, Travis… she might have heard voices or movement inside, but maybe her mind was just fooling her. She’d specifically said it had to happen quietly or Travis and anyone else he talked into leaving would probably get caught in a crossfire or mown down by Mags on the way out the door. Her knee started to jostle nervously, and Rebecca had to concentrate on stifling the subconscious gesture.  
The door was opening! Quiet rustles surrounded her as all of her friends’ guns twitched to it. First out was Travis, his hands up and open… but the knife they’d allowed him to take was dark in his hand as he threw it to one side and took off at a quiet jog to the right, towards the wrecked house and field beyond. Two more men followed him, carrying guns by the barrels as specified, setting them down quietly on the ground and then running off after him.

Then, an elderly man and woman, the first light-skinned and the other dark, teetered down the steps and headed towards the left, generally towards their positions in the woods. The friendly local with the AR called out quietly and they changed course towards him. Rebecca didn’t even need to ask him to verify if they were friendlies like she’d brought him along for — she usually wasn’t the type to judge a book by its cover, but they were about as distinctly non-thuggish as you could get.

After some hushed whispering, he moved a tree or two closer. "One asshole didn’t want to come out, so Travis stabbed him. That’s everyone else on the ground floor. Maybe four or five upstairs."

"Who else of yours is up there?"

"Should be a teenage kid - a girl, and another old lady. Mags ain’t that old and her hair ain’t grey."

"Okay, stay here until you hear anything, then get them back carefully. Don’t go anywhere until fighting starts, we can’t afford noise."

She didn’t mean to make him feel bad about the twig, but a couple of septuagenarians blundering through the woods… she didn’t expect much in the way of stealth. She glanced at Sam’s shadowed form again as she reached for her radio and pushed the send button twice. Two clicks for Patrick and Chris to know what was going on. Then, she looked over to Epstein and and waved them forward.

**

Epstein led them into the house, SMG up and ready. Apparently the targeting laser could operate in the infrared band, visible only in the night vision goggles. He was a fan. Landry followed, sweeping left when Epstein went right. Rebecca peeled off behind him while Sam flanked Landry. Thank god, the ground floor looked like it was still clear. The noise of the idling vehicles downslope must have covered any giveaways.

They carefully picked their way around through the kitchen, dining, and sitting areas to the base of the steps, just inside the front door. Rebecca spotted the body of the one recalcitrant holdout in a puddle of shadow darker than the floor around it and stepped over his legs warily, remembering a time a bound foe knocked her feet out from under her. There was no repeat occasion, but she still was forced to split her attention between scanning the room and controlling her breathing, tamping down the uneasy tingle the mass of adrenaline was driving through her limbs. Ronnie’s lessons came back to her again — one breath, one sweep. Watch your doors n’ corners, Bex. Don’t get tunnel vision.

They reached the stairs without incident, and she swallowed hard as Epstein and Landry set their feet on the first step. Dylan swore none of them squeaked, and Rebecca was praying hard on an open wideband that she was right. The guys kept their guns forward, she and Sam aimed at an angle, across the stairs and landing, at the doors on the opposite side. Their luck was holding, all three doors at the top were open, nobody in the bathroom ahead.

Almost at the top, Epstein lifted a hand away from his borrowed SMG and gestured at the doors. Rebecca reached for her radio, clicked the transmit button three times, then lowered her weapon to pull a flash grenade from her pouches. Sam did the same. Just as they pulled the pins, a voice upstairs called out.

"Hey Mickey…" The lights illuminating the house from outside doused. "Shit!" 

The women lobbed their grenades through the two side doors and shut their eyes, waiting for the bang muffled by their ear protection. Both were already raising their weapons again by feel before the grenades went off, and they surged up the stairs, mere steps behind their pointmen. Then, all hell broke loose.

Rebecca followed Epstein right, into another sitting room of some kind. Epstein fired once, twice as she entered the room and flicked the light and laser on her Tavor on. She spotted movement in a far door while Epstein was checking behind a large wardrobe and fired a quick burst. The shotgun boomed across the hall repeatedly. Epstein snapped his weapon left, firing into someone rising from behind a couch… and Rebecca heard the slide on the SMG lock back, empty. Shit, he must not have been used to its dramatically higher rate of fire. He was hurrying to reload when another man popped up from behind the same large sofa and got two pistol shots off, at least one of them clipping Epstein and knocking him into the wall with the grunt.

Rebecca’s lips pulled back, baring her teeth as she locked onto her target and fired, hitting him at least once above the couch and intentionally marching the rest of her burst down into it in a zig-zag pattern. Always be aware of overpenetration. The risks, the benefits.

She put three rounds into the last guy Epstein hit, the first one to pop up from behind the couch, just in case his gun ran dry before it could finish the guy. Don’t fixate. Engage, neutralize, scan. Sam’s M4 cracked repeatedly in the next room, three at a time.

The room was clear for the moment, so she spared Epstein a glance. He was leaning against the wall, groaning and hissing as he wrestled the next long stick magazine into the Vector and pressed the bolt release. He had a loaded weapon again, but Rebecca saw blood staining his uniform, at least in his shoulder. He nodded her forward with a grimace and struggled to push himself off the wall and upright. He could watch her back, but she had to take point.

She pushed forward into the next room, shooting someone looking out the window in the back, pitching them out of it. Just as she registered the hit and started to scan again, two forms materialized from the shadows, one tackling her, the other charging Epstein. Gunfire continued to echo in the other side of the house.

Her foe slammed her against the wall, but the armor spared her from the impact. The man she grappled with was larger than her, certainly worse-smelling. He pinned her Tavor between them, but she was able to hook her right foot behind his leg and lever off of the wall with her shoulder, sending him toppling — but he was entangled in her weapon sling and started to pull her over with him.

Rebecca gasped in exertion as she fought against his weight, frantically grabbing for her knife, and slashed the strap on her sling so the gun fell freely away. She followed it down and plunged the knife into him, leaving it there, and pushing herself away. Her hand found her familiar pistol grip immediately, pulled it free, and she shot him twice from where she knelt. She caught a single desperate breath as she felt for her flashlight and rose, holding the light beneath her gun hand like she’d seen cops do on TV.

The room she was in now filled the front right corner of the house, with another between her and the front left corner. As she swept her flashlight beam across it, she saw Epstein had the upper hand, his good arm around the man’s neck and his legs wrapped around his opponent’s. The other man was thrashing and trying to reach Epstein, but seemed to be slowing, so Rebecca aimed into the other room and advanced, using furniture as cover. She heard Sam’s voice, snarling ferociously.

One hostile was in that room, and she flinched away from a near miss and put the laser and three rounds center mass. She still had those fancy hollow points she first purchased with the handgun.

She caught a glimpse of Sam in the far room. A man’s corpse fell away from her, and Rebecca saw her transfer her knife to her left hand and pick up her M4, holding the blade under it much the same way she was holding her own flashlight. Sam fired twice towards the rear of the house, then started to pivot. As the headlights in the vehicles outside blazed back to life, she saw that Sam was squinting one eye closed, blinded on that side by a trickle of blood from her forehead, and couldn’t see the person rising on her flank.

Rebecca shouted a warning and sprinted for the room.

**

Just like they’d planned, Sam was hot on Landry’s tail as he charged into the room like a wrecking ball. His first blast with the shotgun must have sent a guy flying, because she saw a man hit the wall and collapse as she entered. She started swinging her aim left as fast as she could to clear the corner, lingering mid-arc to fire a three round burst into a shadow holding a gun that starts to rise from behind a bed. A few pops from the other side of the house must be a pistol — not Rebecca’s, she’d recognize it, but she had to focus there, mute her worries for now.  
Landry fired again, twice more, at a target or targets she hadn’t spotted yet. She finished her pan across the room and started to aim back towards the door, but saw movement before she got there. A loud boom rocked the room and Landry fell backwards in her peripheral vision. Angry profanity poured from her mouth and she opened fire as soon as she got on target, putting two or three bursts — she wasn’t sure — into the thug partially visible in the doorway. 

She advanced to Landry’s side and started to kneel next to him in concern, but she heard him groan. Hopefully his armor took the brunt, she couldn’t stop, they all knew they didn’t have the bench depth to take up the momentum if she did. 

She moved forward again, trying to get angles on the room in front of her through the door, to not get blindsided just as she entered. Her sides were clear, but someone across the room popped up just like a target range. She responded accordingly, firing just like at practice. The first burst misses, but she must have corrected without thinking about it as the next volley strikes home. Three or four bursts left in… no, she didn’t have to worry about that. She had one of Rebecca’s big magazines with twice the capacity she was used to.

Confusing movement flashed to her left just before an impact made her forehead burn and her head ring, knocking her to a knee and loosening her hold on her gun. Did someone just seriously hit her with a fucking mirror?

Before she recovered, her unseen attacker kicked the back of her left knee, harshly aborting her attempt to rise, and lashed out again at the side of her torso. The blow knocked some of her breath away, but thankfully the armor distributed the impact. The unexpected resistance might have put her attacker off balance, because there was a fleeting moment’s respite she used to get her right foot under her and lunge at them, twisting to claw at their face with her left hand as she pulled her knife free and stabbed them twice, rotating her fist to turn the knife after each strike to cause more damage and break the vacuum seal on the blade so she can pull it free again, just like Ronnie taught them.

It was her first time stabbing someone for real, but she only spared a brief observation that she didn’t really seem to mind . More pistol fire echoed — familiar this time. Crap. Meanwhile, closer footsteps demand her attention, running at her from the right. She turned, launching off the floor to vault a table, using her small stature to get her toes under her again to kick off it like a rabbit with a very sharp blade, adding more impact as she cannonballed into her charging foe’s torso. She rode them down and worked her knife again. Twice to the abdomen and once to their neck or underside of their skull — she couldn’t which tell with one good eye in the dark. Her left eye stung like a real bitch and she couldn’t override the instinct to keep it squeezed shut — probably blood dripping from the fucking mirror hit.

Her M4 beckoned in the corner of her limited vision and she staggered to it, swapping her knife to her left hand and picking up the gun with her right. The first fuckhead she stabbed was still moving, so she loosely shouldered her firearm and finished him.

A noise registered behind her, and she started to turn… right into the blinding wash of the vehicle lights outside as Chrissie turns them back on. According to plan, but damnable timing.

She heard Rebecca shout her name in warning, more scuffles of movement, and then something impacted her, knocking her down and her gun away again. She landed on a coffee table of some sort, probably still bruising her ribs even through the armor and caught herself, grabbing hold of it.

With an angry scream she spun, smashing the coffee table into her assailant, blinded again by the glare in her available eye. But dammit, she’s finished robot fights while hers was on fire and had been simmering on a bubble of grief and rage all day long, so she just let it loose, wanting to be done with this hellish backwater shithole. She lashed out with one fist, following with the other, then simply rushed them with another shout, knocking them back into a table. She followed closely, twisting to throw them to the ground and toppling nearby herself.

She was two different kinds of blinded, but the rage coursing through her seems to have dulled physical sensations and sharpened everything else to compensate. Sweat and a hint of blood tanged her mouth, she could hear her own breathing like a ripsaw, even her sense of smell was dialed up like some feral connection was tapped in her brain. Smell… oh god. Oh god no. She knows that smell, and suddenly every breath seemed too small, too slow.

All her frenzied bloodlust drained away in the span of two heartbeats as she fumbled for her radio. "Pat, Chrissie… anybody… help. Upstairs." That’s all the words she could formulate, and she slumped to one side with a plaintive whimper.

**

Patrick was watching the house through the scope on Rebecca’s favorite rifle, trying to be mindful about scraping it against the barricades even as he was broodingly concerned for everyone’s safety. Still not much movement in the windows. Eventually he heard the two clicks on the radio they’ve been hoping for, and glanced at Christine, when they shared a small encouraging smile.

He hated being stuck out here, but Rebecca’s arguments were all sound, like usual. More people in tight quarters becomes a diminishing return, they needed someone to cover the front, to coordinate the actions of the survivors outside supporting them, to go get Ronnie if the worst came to be. God, he hated that idea. Rebecca saved him and Chris, Sam was a friend, and the two soldiers seemed like really decent guys.

Mulling on that occupied him for the handful of minutes before the next set of clicks, three this time. Chris raised her hand next to him, he silently counted to three along with her, and then she dropped her hand, signaling the people standing near the vehicles to turn the lights off.

Less than a second after, the two expected flashes of light popped like camera bulbs inside the top floor, along with the first of many, many sharp percussions. He heard the boom of Chris’s shotgun reverberate, the sharp cracks of the M4 he inherited from Rebecca, maybe the sputters of the suppressed weapons, along with an uncomfortable volume of unfamiliar gunfire. The sounds were oddly muffled inside, each corresponding with a flash of light like thunderstorm raging inside.  
Movement in the far right window drew his attention and aim, but he only got there in time to see an unfamiliar shadow — larger than the girls, huskier than the soldiers — spin and fall. The gunfire started to taper off after that — several more isolated shots, a few bursts, and a minute of eerie quiet punctuated by a few crashes of furniture.

Then, a radio call came in, Sam’s voice. Her tone was distressing and the words were even worse. "Pat, Chrissie… anybody… help. Upstairs."

His eyes widened and met Chris’s, and after less than a second of shock, he was running for the barn to grab a large duffel bag they’d brought up from their rides. He came back out to see Chris ordering two of the rescued civilians with guns into the back of the nearest idling Humvee, waving him over when she spotted him.

He was barely into the seat behind Chris when she floored the gas, the clattery diesel under the hood of the Humvee still managing to throw up small gouts of loose earth from the wheels. It only took a few seconds to reach the front of the house, Chris stomping on the squealing brakes as hard as she had the throttle moments before.

As everyone piled out, Pat made eye contact with one of their recruits. "Bring the bag!" 

Then, he charged up to the porch, steps behind Chris as she shoved the front door open and started for the staircase, aiming her gun up the same. His mouth was dry, his pulse racing, but he stuck to her like a shadow just as they’d drilled. He could see she was aiming slightly to the left, so he kept his gun pointed at the door on the right, backing in behind her when she moved through the left door. Only when nothing moved beyond the far door did he look over his shoulder and see what made Chris gasp and swear. The room looked the part of a war zone, and from what he could see, the next was even worse.

**

Working, living, sleeping next to someone for several months, you learn what they smell like. Soaps, deodorants, those change, but how their hair smells when they haven’t washed it for a day, the faintly acrid note of their sweat when they’ve been working in the sun.

If Rebecca was nearby enough to smell… that meant it was her that Sam had just laid into. Panic and shock welled in her chest as she felt frantically in the darkness, pleading quietly for it to not be true. Her hand found familiar textures — nylon webbing, the edges of the high-tech armor they shared, and she choked on her words, gasping for breath.

Her eyes… eye… was finally adjusting. She could swear the light in the room shifted wildly for a moment, making her head swim, but she recovered and crawled to where the woman she loved lay. She wasn’t sure if Rebecca could hear her, but that didn’t stop her from pouring out a heartbroken apology.

"Oh god, Remy, I didn’t know it was you. I swear. I’m so so sorry. Please be okay. I’m sorry, please." Between the sobs wracking her chest, Sam heard movement behind her, and then a voice, bracketed by malicious laughter, as she turned.

"Wow. That was… beautiful. Tragic poetry, I tell you." A heavyset woman in her late forties, early fifties was standing in the wide archway to the center room at the front of the house, holding a double barreled shotgun at a lazy angle. 

Sam glanced to where her M4 lay out of reach, her knife a little farther. Maybe that was better in a way, it meant she hadn’t stabbed Rebecca.

Maybe... Sam looked over Rebecca where she lay, but no, her knife sheath and her pistol holster were empty. She still bore some ammunition, but the only weapon left was a single fragmentation grenade.

She glared back over her shoulder while dragging herself along the floor, still fighting to get each breath in. Sam reached for Rebecca’s wrist, feeling desperately for a pulse an inch back from her thumb. "Mags. You bitch. You utter bitch. This is all your fault."  
"Me? Hah. That’s rich. I’m not the one who stuck my nose where it didn’t belong. You should have stayed out of my business, girl!

Blocking Mags’ line of sight with her body, she slipped the grenade loose, pulled the pin free with a grunt, and turned, showing it to her cupped in an open palm. "You’re lucky she’s alive," she spat. "So help me god, I’d just take you with me if she wasn’t." Please let someone arrive soon. Her friends had to come soon, right? They’d heard her?"

"You feisty little shit. You must be the second one, that shot ol’ Jace, huh? That means your little friend there is the one who fashions herself some kind of fire artist. Maybe I should just shoot you, let you drop that grenade. You both ruined what I have going here, is it really worth starting over from scratch?"

Sam honestly considered tossing it past Mags and throwing herself over Rebecca. But after what she’d just done to her, that was the chickenshit route.

Mags saw some hint of hesitation in Sam’s face and laughed that awful self satisfied cackle again. "Having second thoughts, are—"

Mags’ words cut off just as Sam heard the familiar sputter of her Vector SMG for a full second, the whole mag. Blood spattered off at an angle, splashing the wall next to the window while chunks of plaster and lathe churned and fell.

Sam couldn't see Epstein from where she was, but she heard his labored voice and a thump that was probably him collapsing to the floor.. "Oh shut up, you old hag."

She closed her eyes as Mags hit the floor and breathed in a pittance of relief, starting to weep.

**

Sam spent the night beside to the chaise lounge they moved Rebecca to, alternating between kneeling like she was praying at an altar and sitting cross-legged with her forehead propped up on the couch. She might have drifted, but if she truly slept she didn’t know, fighting to refuse it every waking minute.

She didn’t let Patrick tend to the gash on her forehead until they’d done what they could for Rebecca; a nasty bruise had formed on her jaw, her lip was split and swollen, and she also bore multiple lacerations on her face. A large gauze pad on her forehead mirrored Sam’s own. Sam knew that had to be from when she hit her with the table, and felt like her heart was a solid ingot of lead in her chest while she watched Patrick apply butterfly bandages and the sterile fabric covering.

Everyone in the breaching party was a sorry mess. Landry was arranged similarly on a couch in another room — his vest and strike plate protected him, but he still had at least a couple of broken ribs. Epstein was asleep in an armchair next to him, sleeve cut away and shoulder bandaged. His armor took a hit too — another few inches and the round might have punctured his lung.

Sam’s whole body ached and she had a multitude of small bruises and scrapes she hadn’t noticed getting. Still barely noticed having, they blurred into a background haze of discomfort drowned out by her anguish every time she lifted her head and looked at Rebecca.

She’d started to recognize Chrissie’s and Pat’s footsteps — she could tell which one was coming to check in, or if it was just one of the newly liberated citizens clearing out the bodies and debris from the battle. That meant she knew it would be Chrissie who spoke a moment before it happened.

"Hey hon. I know you won’t leave her, but here, at least drink something, okay?"

Sam lifted her head and blinked. Hints of dawn were starting to creep in through the windows. She didn’t say anything, but nodded and accepted the water bottle Chrissie held out to her with good-natured imperiousness. It was surprisingly frigid and Sam gasped after she forced down the first swig.

"I just refilled it from the pump outside. Sorry if it’s too cold?"

Sam shook her head, wincing with regret immediately after. "No, it’s okay. It actually feels kinda good on my throat. Thank you."

"Of course." Chrissie leaned slightly to pat Sam on the shoulder. It hurt with her armor long since removed, but Sam bit her lip and stayed quiet. "Any change?"

"No. God, I hope I didn’t put her in a coma… I can’t…" A sob cut off her sentence, and Chrissie dropped to her knee to put an arm around her.  
"Hey, hey. Rebecca’s a tough cookie, she’ll pull through. And it wasn’t your fault, hon. She’ll tell you that just as much as we have."

Sam sniffed, trying not to do it so hard that she increased her head pain again. "I still did it, Chris. I did this to her."

Christine sighed. "You didn’t know. It was dark, you were in one hell of a fight… you should talk to the guys when they’re up for it, or Ronnie when we see her again. I don’t doubt they’ve seen friendly fire incidents."

Sam sighed and remained silent, so Christine gave her a gentle squeeze and retreated quietly, familiar footfalls padding back towards the stairs.

**

Maybe an hour after sunup, Rebecca stirred and Sam’s heart leapt. At first, it was just a small moan from Rebecca, then a frown and she turned her head.

A minute or so later, she opened her eyes, looking around in bewilderment. But… when their eyes met, Sam caught the way Rebecca flinched, eyes widening and jerking her hand away from where Sam’s fingers touched hers.

Sam felt like someone was rending her soul in two. "No, Rebecca… it’s okay. You’re safe. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it was you. You’re okay." She instinctively started to lift her hand towards Rebecca’s again, but checked the movement almost immediately, and a tear rolled down her cheek. "I’m so damned sorry, sugar."

Rebecca blinked twice, her startled breath gradually slowing, and then she looked around hesitantly. "What happened? The hostages? Landry, Epstein?"

"We got the girl out okay. The older lady… she didn’t make it. She wasn’t injured, so our best guess is maybe all the commotion was too much, maybe her heart gave out." Rebecca grimaced and Sam nodded sympathetically. "Yeah… sorry. The guys are a little roughed up, but they’ll mend. Epstein got Mags, I think she was behind you or something."

"Mags…" Rebecca frowned, and turned her head in the general direction of the front room. "Ow." She took a careful breath and continued. "Behind… oh. The girl. I saw the girl behind you, she was coming out from behind the table, and it looked like you were turning your gun towards her. I tried to warn you, that’s why I was running." She winced and lowered her head to the pillow again.

Sam picked up a pill bottle that was on the floor next to her and opened it. "Here, please take some of the codeine. The guys have already had some, Epstein actually conked out soon after and Landry seems to be breathing better. Your eye dilation was a little wonky, you might have a concussion." Sam thought about what she was saying and took a long ragged breath, not mentioning she'd only taken a couple of large ibuprofen. "Please, it’ll make me feel better if you do."

Rebecca groaned quietly. "Okay."

Sam helped her sit up partway to wash the pills down, and then lowered her gradually back down, just like Rebecca had done for her after a battle months ago. As she slid her hand out from under her, she realized she felt the tense muscles in Rebecca’s shoulder relax ever-so-slightly as her fingertips were leaving them. She looked down at the floor, eyes following grain lines in the wood as she wiped another tear away.

Rebecca closed her eyes for a few moments, but Sam could tell she was still conscious — taking slow careful breaths before she spoke. "Something… I stumbled, or maybe Mags tripped or shoved me? I don’t know. I was just trying to get close enough to put my hand on your arm." She opened her eyes and lifted her hand towards the bandage on Sam’s head. "What about you?"

"I’m pretty sure someone clocked me in the head with a mirror." Sam looked away again and muttered under her breath. "Better than a damned table…"

"Seven years of bad luck for them all at once, I guess. I’m glad you’re okay. Pat and Chrissie too?"

"Yeah. They’ve been looking after the rest of us wrecks for the night. Dylan was trying to get to sleep and then going to take over so they can pass out.""You should too.""I’ve been keeping an eye on you. I feel like shit, Rebecca." Sam looked in to Rebecca’s eyes mournfully. "You’re the last person I’d want to hurt."

"I know, Sam. It’s not your fault."

"Chrissie said you’d say that."

"Now who has to hear things twice to get it through their head, huh? Hey, I made you smile." Rebecca lifted a hand towards Sam, who took it, carefully but also hurriedly — almost desperately. "I’m pretty tired, you should get some rest."

"I needed to know you were okay." But, being honest, Sam could barely keep her head up anymore. It had been such an unimaginably long day since she woke up in their comfortable bed some 24-ish hours ago.

Rebecca smiled weakly. "I get it. I would too. But let’s both rest so the other one doesn’t worry, huh? I love you, Rosie."

Sam blinked, trying to hold back tears and talk around the lump in her throat. "'kay." She lifted Rebecca’s hand and kissed it. "I love you too, sugar."  
Rebecca smiled and withdrew her hand — to Sam’s lingering regret — and lay it over her eyes, her breathing slowing. Sam sighed and stood slowly, carefully, reached for a blanket on the back of the couch to drape across Rebecca, and walked away as quietly as she could.

She’d sleep in a bit, but first she had to find someone to wake Rebecca every two hours to make sure she wasn’t showing signs of a worsening concussion, find a fencepost to lean against, and stare off into the distance for a while. She was tempted to seek out Patrick’s flask of booze, but damn if that didn’t make her worry about being too much like her father.


End file.
